Iggy's Poison
by Treacle Parcheesi
Summary: Iggy Koopa is committed to a world-renowned psychiatric hospital after a suicide attempt. As psychotic and unstable as he is, an evil and even more insane conspiracy cannot escape his brilliant mind, yet it takes time, a little too much time, before he realizes he is already in the middle of its twisted vortex.
1. Iggy Koopa's Pernicious Pen Pal

Hello readers :) I announced the reboot of Your Poison of Choice on my DeviantART page in November last year; a little over a month before the publication of the comic based on the story. Now I'm gonna follow through with it before finishing the comic, which has, thanks to my loyal readers and subscribers become quite the masterpiece. The fic however needs to be updated and fleshed out for it to make a little more sense.

Iggy's Poison was originally just a chapter of an older fic of mine; Yellow Roses (written in 2011, deleted in 2012) but it's proved to be one of my best fanfics ever. I'm proud of that.

This story is not intended for children. Read that line three times, please, and the one about don't bothering to bitch if you read the story anyway and get offended ten times.

Here I will not let Iggy narrate the entire story, as that sort of crippled it the last time. :)

Trigger warning for... Oh, who cares. Besides, far be it from me to give away the best parts...

* * *

The walls tower over me.

I was told, a long time ago, that when one grows older, they grow taller as well. That's not true in my case. I'm older, yes. But the walls have stolen what could have make me grow.

Several letters and drawings are now pinned to these barriers of wood and plaster, and I sit down on the floor to look at them. Some of them are from me, some are from my usual pen pal. About ten feet from where my tail is planted now, my Mama helped bringing him into the world. Right over there, by the Bloody Stairs, where she vanished only a little while after telling me how a Koopa grows.

His creation felt so good. So empowering. I marvelled at him back then as the height of my spiritual evolution. Unfortunately I failed to see him for what he really was; an afterbirth of sorrow, shame and guilt. And that's why I'm sitting here right now.

Dear razor.

Please.

Let this be it.

This is my turn.

Set me free.

What I'm holding isn't really a razor, but's just as sharp; a box cutter I nabbed from one of my brother Ludwig's toolboxes when he wasn't looking. King Dad has decided that I shouldn't have access to sharp objects, "probably for this very reason", I think to myself as I bleed out on the black and white marble tiles. Oh, the blood is so lovely. I put my palms on it to warm myself on it. It gushes from my slashed wrists with every heartbeat, and while I grow colder and colder, the blood gets warmer and warmer. My spinning head is carefully placed on the floor after I look at the walls, who have never seemed more imposing than they do right now. There's a connection here, I just know it.

He shows up to bother me again, so I mutter some lines from a song we used to listen to together.

"Hush, hush, darlin', hush, hush, darlin'..."

It gets increasingly difficult as a dreadful black sleep is tugging at my eyelids. So I close my eyes and welcome death and darkness.

If you are moving towards the light, you are not done bleeding.

King Bowser was tired of waiting for his son, who had skipped both breakfast, lunch and tea to sit in his room with his drawings. "Well," he thought to himself, "he won't get away from dinner. Kid won't eat, no wonder he can't grow."

Usually he would have a guard fetch the Koopalings, the notable exception being just Iggy. Trying to force him out of his room was the closest thing to a blood sport one could get these days.

* * *

Bowser held on to the banister of the staircase that lead to the portrait hall, the library and Iggy's bedroom. The steps were built for small mammal feet, not Koopa feet, and were incredibly steep. One one wrong step and you'd seriously hurt yourself, which was the reason the Koopalings called it "The Bloody Stairs."

There was another reason it had this nickname, but Bowser couldn't bring himself to think about it. Maybe getting rid of the staircase and replacing it would have solved the problem. Thing was, that the death of his Queen had caused the collapse of Dark Land's golden age. At least in his mind it had, and now every Coin counted and redecorating wasn't on any list of priorities.

"Iggy?" Bowser knocked on the door with the little wooden sign that read his son's name; a birthday gift from his second oldest son, Lemmy. There was no answer. Bowser frowned. The door was locked. It wasn't normal for Iggy to sleep at this hour, or any hour for that matter.

"Iggy, open the door. Everyone is waiting for you. If you don't come right away someone's just gonna hog the dessert again." Bowser hated missing dessert, and today was ice cream.

A soft thud from inside the door made him react instantly. He slammed his shoulder into the wood, which instantly popped it open.

The curtains were closed. The room was incredibly dark and hot. Bowser blew some fire on a torch on the wall and turned around.

"No..."

The sight made the Koopa king's blood curdle, despite the temperature of the room. For a moment Bowser thought back to the first time he had laid eyes on his green-haired son; right after he had hatched he had curled up on his pillow, exhausted from breaking free from his egg. Bowser had been so proud he had immediately grunted and blown smoke on the little one, like all Koopas did when they felt full of pride and love.

Iggy lay there on the floor, just like he had as a hatchling, with his knees drawn up to his chin, and hand placed next to him. Now it clutched a blade, not his father's index claw. Bowser sank to his knees, and when he hung his horned head, he saw the piece of paper wrapped around the boxcutter.

"Ludwig I am sorry. But I stole everything and ruined it. He says it's my fault. It hurts so much in the place I showed you. I can't do it anymore. It hurts. Please forgive me. I don't deserve to live because I destroyed the family."

The sentences were incoherent, the penmanship was hardly legible, as if written by a trembling claw. The paper was also stained with blood. Bowser hated blood.

Blood is red as both fire and rubies, but the color of it is also and ominous; opaque and sinister. The quality of its colors, and the amount of it on the floor had initially lead Bowser to believe that his son was already dead. He was after all so cold and pale he might as well be any other object in the room. But as he held the Koopaling in his arms he could feel Iggy's plastron expand and retract slightly. Breath.

Closing his son's gaping wounds with his claws, he called for the guards, who immediately came running to the Koopaling's room. The Boomerang bros had seen worse on the front, and within minutes they had compressed Iggy's wound and were on their way to Toad Town Hospital.

The shock had rendered Bowser quite incapable of moving. He stared at the patch of floor surrounded by coagulatory calamity. It was shaped like Iggy.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again they roamed over stacks of books, framed photos of the family and the army, the terrarium for his hissing roaches, and the wall full of drawings. One of them made King Koopa rise from the floor and wander over to it. In that moment he realized, though not fully understood why Iggy had done the unthinkable.

The drawing was of Dead Iggy. For a while this hallucinatory houseguest had only appeared in Iggy's letters to himself. Iggy refused to talk about him, but when Lemmy found scary letters addressed to him, Bowser had to restrict Iggy's access to paper and pens. That backfired, as this had made the disturbed Koopaling panic and begin his disturbing and troublesome habit of hoarding whatever paper he could find; in his shell and hide it in the grandfather clock, under the furniture and even in ring binders.

Bowser wanted to take his rage out on someone, but no bystanders were in sight, so instead he cleaned up the blood with a swipe of his scepter. If the cleaning ladies of the castle got a whiff of this the entire Mushroom Planet would also learn of it within a day. The Koopa king sighed. His family and army had already gone through enough as it was.

Later he sat in the waiting room outside the intensive care unit at Toad Town General Hospital. He wasn't alone; a Beanish lady sat and watched the television with an exhausted, empty gaze. A Toad couple had been waiting so long they had both fallen asleep. They weren't even roused by Dr. Toadley, who called Bowser's name.

"Your son suffered massive blood and fluid loss. We have closed his wounds and stabilized him, but it will take a week or so before he can be allowed out of bed."

Dr. Toadley lowered his voice and looked even more serious than usual.

"The admission chart states the cause of injury as an accident. I saw the cuts myself. They were smooth and deliberate. King Koopa, for how long has your son displayed severe psychotic behavior?"

It started soon after his mother died. After the funeral he caught pneumonia from sitting in the freezing crypt all through November that year. I thought I was gonna bury a son, too instead of lighting a Christmas tree. The Star Lady must have heard my prayers, because Iggy got healthy again once spring came, but when it did it became impossible to get him to eat. Everyone at the castle tried everything. In his own words, food tasted either like "blood or shit". He's a young Koopa, and his very inhibited eating habits didn't seem to take much of a toll on him until he entered puberty. He's not half as strong or fast as he used to. Whatever was ailing him didn't really become annoying until he started controlling the other Koopalings and frightening them with stories that made no sense. If Iggy wasn't giggling like a maniac and thrashing aound he sat there, quietly, staring into nothing, which was just as unnerving.

"Iggy, put the knife down. Listen. I'm your father and I'm telling you to put the weapon down."

The green-haired Koopaling was brandishing a blade, and pointed it at Bowser with nerve-wrecking, jerky lunges. "They're all gonna kill us." He was backing away, still holding the knife with a trembling hand. In the other, he was holding baby Wendy, who had been patient for a while, but was now threatening to become fussy.

"Who are gonna kill us?" Bowser had ordered the guards to keep their distance not to scare Iggy.

"The mustache men, of course," Iggy answered as if his father were daft. "They'll jump on our heads and put Bob-Ombs in our beds."

Wendy was hot, hungry and tired, and wanted her pillow and bottle. She whined, but Iggy paid her no attention.

"If you're afraid of that, why would you hurt your little sister?"

Bowser was a military Koopa, and as such knew very well how impossible it is to reason with a psychotic individual. But this wasn't madman with frilly pants. It was Iggy Koopa, a prince of the blood and heir to the jungles and deserts.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Iggy said, voice cracking with tears. "It's OK. You shouldn't have to understand. But they can't take us if we go away first. We have to die. It's the only way they'll ever leave us alone."

A Sledge bro was silently closing in on the Koopaling. Normally the Troop solved hostage situations like this with a well-directed arrow, quick and with little mess. Bowser realized then how lacking his military procedures were. Maybe not everything had to be solved with violence.

The last thought vanished out of King Koopa's head the next second, as the Sledge Bro reached out to take Wendy. She smiled; when the Sledge Bros held her they always either played a fun little game with her or gave her something yummy.

"Sebeh!" She exclaimed happily, as this was her word for "Sledge Bro". Unfortunately Iggy knew this, and he turned around on a dime and plunged the knife so hard into the Koopa's plastron it cracked one of the latter's ribs. Bowser grabbed Iggy, who fought back with every scale on his body.

"No! They'll get us! They'll bomb our castles! Make us inhale stuff! Make us into cardboard cutouts!"

King Koopa had closed his eyes as Iggy was taken to the dungeon. The Koopa he had hurt took a long time and a few lawsuits to heal, but he returned to work sooner than Iggy.

From that day on, Bowser decided to excuse Iggy from his military duties. That meant that he had to confine Iggy to his room and the dungeon. At night Bowser placed his troubled son in Ludwig's bed to help him feel a little safer. All he accomplished by doing so was robbing Kooky of sleep, as Iggy wept all night, every night. King Koopa was at his wits' end; there was nothing more he could do for his son.

When Bowser had found Iggy on the floor in a pool of his own blood, he had wondered if this wasn't the best for Iggy. Maybe death wasn't so bad. At least now he could rest. When he found out that Iggy was still alive, however, all such thoughts vanished. He had never even once before imagined life without Iggy, or any of his precious Koopalings. Most Koopas are very family-oriented and Bowser was no exception.

It was impossible to ex plain all this to the doctor.

The Koopaling was still hooked up to a bag of blood when his father entered the room. That was not why Bowser was infuriated.

"Why is my son strapped to the bed?!"

Iggy had soft poseys around his arms securing him to the bed.

"Please, Your Awfulness, we are not a prison," Toadley's intern said as she approached Bowser, who looked quite prepared to tear Iggy's restraints off. "We are not otherwise prepared to care for suicidal patients."

* * *

Suicidal patient, huh?

The darkness that covered my eyes like a sack-cloth comforter vanishes. The sun is up. But it's not a warm, yellow sun. No, not at all. I look at it. It's as if the moon was lighting up the sky. An ethereal, silvery fog clothes it. It's so beautiful I can't help but reach my hands towards it. I can't reach it, however, because another resident of the light has seized my hand.

"That's good, Iggy," a distant, yet so close voice says. "Can you squeeze my hand?"

My fingers must have curled around his, because he calls me a good Iggy again and lets me rest for a while.

My father the King is towering over me. He looks at me, and no one has ever seen his eyes making this expression, I'm sure. He doesn't talk. He's probably still angry with me for making a mess.

"He was going after Lemmy," I say before he can scold me. If King Dad begins pontificating there's no shutting him up.

"Who?" King Dad asks. "Him?" He holds out the drawing of my pen pal.

"Yes. I didn't let him have Wendy. I couldn't give her to him, so he demanded Lemmy, and then Morton. I couldn't let him have them, so I tried to give him me instead. I did what I had to do."

A nurse puts me back into bed and prepares a syringe, and that makes King Dad back towards the door.

"I did what I had to do!" I cry after him. "Don't leave me here!" If only King Dad would listen he would understand how good a son I am. But he is abandoning me. The injection is quick and painless, and soon my eyelids betray me.

Don't we all die alone.

* * *

Bowser went back to the waiting room, which was empty. Ludwig and Lemmy had to leave their dinners behind to help their father with Iggy and were probably still by the vending machines. Lemmy had probably crawled into one. He had done that with vending machines ever since Roy told him a ridiculous story of how fairies lived in there and made candy.

"Lord Bowser?"

King Koopa knew it wasn't Lemmy or Ludwig as none of them ever adressed him as 'Lord Bowser'. Also, the voice belonged to a woman. A Koopa woman, dressed in a purple skirt suit and lab coat approached him.

"Who else than me?" Bowser replied with a shadow of a smug grin on his snout.

"I am Doctor Clawdia Greenkoop," the pink-haired lady said with a little, dignified nod. "The hospital called me to consult your son Ignatius after the nature of his condition was made available."

That was quick. Bowser looked at the Koopa accompanying her. He was almost as tall as Bowser, just a lot thinner and with a cerulean mane. The king recognized him; he was a renowned koopediatrician who had received an award for his work with underprivileged little Koopas. It had been all over the weekend news, but it was his other field of expertise that made Bowser ask Clawdia:

"Sorry, what kind of doctor are you?"

Dr. Greenkoop smiled as she lead him into the hallway. "I'm a psychiatrist. I work closely with adolescent Koopas like your son and their families at Freaky Fred Memorial Institute."

Bowser raised an eyebrow; no wonder these two had come out of the woodwork so fast. Ludwig had spent some time at the Institute's Ministry of Insane Laughter-ward for turning a local loan shark into a lab rat and testing a line of radioactive deodorants on him.

"I'm sorry," Bowser grumped, "But Iggy hasn't committed any crimes. Lately."

"We don't only work with juvenile delinquents, Lord Bowser," Dr. Greenkoop said, stretching her smile as far as the still fresh Restylane allowed her. "The local psychiatric facilities do not have the manpower nor the competence to handle Iggy's case. That's why the hospital contacted us. Your son needs help."

Bowser looked at his son through the inch-thick glass of the intensive care unit's door. Iggy was sleeping. Someone had removed his glasses. His eyes were sunken, and the skin blueish from dehydration and insomnia. Bowser sighed, but not so anyone could hear. If he were to send Iggy to a happy farm he would have to find his extra thick glasses.

"Things have changed in Dark Land, and the treasury has changed with it. I can't afford it."

Clawdia Greenkoop just waved this away. "The Institute has also changed, Lord Bowser. It used to be a private hospital, but now it's financed... publicly. Its procedures, facilities and treatments have been updated, too. I'm a family Koopa myself and I know you want the best for your son. At Freaky Fred's we know what's best."

Bowser took the pen he was offered, and before he knew what he had done, even before he had asked any questions, the commitment papers were signed.

"Thank you," the pink haired doctor said. She closed the folder and tucked it away so quickly Bowser didn't get any time to study the logo that had caught his attention. "We will take excellent care of your son."

She and her companying colleague disappeared into the crowded hospital hallway. A moment later Ludwig and Lemmy returned to the waiting room. The latter was full of dust and had chocolate on his face.

"I caught one of the fairies, and she gave me all her snow caps!" Lemmy declared.

Bowser growled in annoyance. "Son, only a blithering idiot would believe that crap. Are you a blithering idiot?"

"No," Lemmy replied.

"Then both of you get back on the Doomship and tell the troopas to set course for home. I'll take a Warp Pipe."

"You... You're not coming with us?" Ludwig asked.

"No." Bowser looked at the papers he had received. "I have some papers to fill out."

"I want to see Iggy." Lemmy demanded. "King Dad, I want to see him."

Bowser shook his head. "Not now, Lemmy. He's sleeping now."

Lemmy looked sad and disappointed. "Why did Iggy hurt himself?"

Bowser didn't have a good answer, and he told his sons that. "Have a safe trip home, you guys." He then looked at Ludwig, who was almost as pale as Iggy.

"Is something bugging you, son?" He asked.

"No, not at all," Ludwig stuttered a little too quickly, but Bowser didn't notice. He stood there, alone in the crowd, feeling as if the ICU door was staring at him with accusing eyes.

* * *

"Iggy?"

The moon isn't beautiful anymore.

"Iggy, honey. Look at me."

I don't want to see you. You would hit a guy with glasses.

"Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Go away. Go away.

"I won't let anybody hurt you..."

I turn my face towards the voice.

"Welcome home."


	2. Iggy Koopa's Fabulous New Coat

**Hello again! Welcome back.**

**Doctor Wolfgang von Bachstein is a character that belongs to CosmicKitten89, who continues to be one of my best supporters. Dr. von Bachstein's most prominent appearance to date is in her story Born to be King, from 2011, which is still regularly updated. It's an exciting, disgusting and heartwarming story which I've enjoyed very much over the years. I suggest you read it too :) s/7182476/1/Born-to-be-King**

**Rugeley Koopa (pronounced "Roo-lie") belongs to Luke the Spook, a DeviantArtist with a very distinctive style, who specializes in drawing Koopas and their adventures in the Real World. He tells his stories through drawings only, so he won't be haunting us here... or _will _he?**

**To say the least I'm very grateful they allowed me to use their characters and expand Iggy's horizon. Thank you.**

* * *

"But I already have a home," I say. "It's a beautiful castle. My father the king built it." My words are responded to with a prick to my arm, and I fall asleep again. Someone is holding me as I drift off, but it's not my father. This Koopa's eyes are large and sad.

When I wake up, daylight fills the room I now inhabit. It has black and white tiles, just like the ones we got at home.

Someone has removed the bed I occuped and replaced it with a blue rubber mat. There's a pillow. Other than that there's just a stool by the window that's bolted to the floor. I sit on it. My feet cannot reach the floor. The windows have bars. They are ornate, still not much better than prison bars.

My new home must be high up, because it's towering over five and six story buildings. The landscape surrounding it does not look like the Mushroom Kingdom at all, not Dark Land either. It's early spring here. In order for it to be spring, snow must have fallen first and there isn't any seasonal change in the Mushroom World. If you want to see snow while in the Mushroom Kingdom, you'd have to go to Iced Land. We visit our winter castle there every Christmas because Lemmy loves the ice and snow.

_"You're in the Real World, Iggy Koopa," _a voice says, but I shrug it off. Hearing voices can be a prodding experience, and I hate it, so I climb up into the window bars. Holding on with my feet I use a claw to scratch my name into the painted cement. Just in case I forget it. One can never be too careful.

I hear a key being inserted; it's in my door. My heart begin to pound. I leap down from the windowsill and look for a place to hide, but there is none. The corner will have to do. It's when I hunch down facing the corner that I realize that someone has capped my spikes. What the hell! With little rubber corks. They make it impossible for me to fully eject my spikes, so now I can't retract into my shell. I try. It can't be done. Tears run from my eyes as the door opens.

"He's already awake," the lady voice from earlier says. She doesn't sound too pleased. "Did you administer the 25 milligram ampulla like I told you to?"

"I thought a smaller dose might make him a little less comatose," a male voice says. He sounds younger than her.

She can be smelt before she's seen. She uses a lot of perfume. I don't like perfume much. At home, Mama Koopa used to boil her own soap from yarrow and sunflower. She taught me how to do it. It leaves the scales soft and clean without removing the pleasant, natural scent of volcano.

"Iggy." She says. She's wise enough not to touch me. I turn around, but I don't look at her.

"Welcome to the Scum of the Earth - ward, Iggy," she says. She has lots of pink hair and wears glasses, like I do. "I am Dr. Greenkoop, but you can call me Clawdia. As you've probably figured out by now, this is your room, where you'll be staying."

"I wanna go home," I say, because I'm afraid. This place doesn't feel right, the air is dry, and it smells like phenol, like when Ludwig cleans the stasis tanks.

"Now, now," she says, trying to comfort me. "I talked with your father. He agreed that it would be best for everyone if you spent some time with us."

The Koopa accompanying her helps me on my feet. He wears white scrubs with smiley faces on them, which is a great contrast to his sad, serious face. He is thin and has a mane of white hair that looks slightly green in the sunlight.

"My name is Rugeley," he says. "If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask me." His eyes shift, making sure Dr. Clawdia Greenkoop isn't listening. "'Questions' meaning if you feel so awful you just wanna scream and need someone to bitch to. I'll listen to you."

Rugeley is the strangest Koopa I've ever met. And that's saying something. He has warm hands, though, and doesn't handle me like an object.

"But, lady, I already have a room," I try to explain to her as she locks the door to my room. "It's in the castle by the big dark lake. I live there with my father. He's a King, and I'm his son."

The more I try to explain, the more Dr. Clawdia raises her eyebrow. She does not believe me. How can she not believe me if she spoke to my father?

"Iggy, I didn't take you out of your room to talk about imaginary castles. Now, there's someone I'd like for you to meet. While Nurse Rugeley here shows around the ward, I'll go fetch your file."

"Nurse _practitioner_," Rugeley corrects, but either Clawdia ignores it or her heels clickyclack too loudly.

The place is humongous. I see a long hallway with residents' rooms on the left, and a large day room to the right. Ahead of me is a whiteboard with names scribbled on it. From what I can see, twenty others live here too."Ignatius H." lives in room 118.

"We have a brother and sister policy here," Rugeley says. "That means that a resident that has been here a while is given someone to look after while they get accustomed to lfe here. Look at the names. The name of your big brother or sister will be written in the same color as yours."

The only other name in black marker belongs to a "Shelly". I almost scoff; I'm gonna be looked after by a _girl_? _Me_? I who once bravely napalmed Roy's room?

Don't raise your eyebrow at me. If I hadn't started that fire that house spider would still be alive today.

"Shelly has cafeteria duty right now," Rugeley explains. "I'll introduce you later. This," he says, "Is the TV-room. If someone wants to watch their stories while you wanna watch 60 Minutes, don't be afraid to bite them."

Maybe he said that, maybe he didn't.

"Rugeley?" A small Magikoopa boy comes toward us. He is almost as pale as a human and walks like my baby sister. I'm guessing it's his wheelchair that's parked by the coffee table.

"Yes, Jerry?" Rugeley answers, and squats down before the boy, who reaches the gangly Koopa to his hips.

"I have food stuck in my teeth."

Rugeley sighs. "Jerry, you don't have any teeth. Your last milk fang fell out last week, remember?"

Jerry just glares at him, and it's obvious to me that his convenient memory losses is something I'm gonna have to endure every day, because despite a lack of teeth the magikoopaling does have claws.

Rugeley whips out a container of dental floss he is keeping in the pocket of his scrub shirt. "Fine. Stand still." While he is flossing Jerry's imaginary teeth, I discover why Jerry is partially wheelchair-bound. His tail is longer than mine, but it's withered. I can almost count the vertebrae. Obviously it's paralyzed, and because he can walk and stand upright for short periods of time it means that he wasn't born with a lame tail. The medulla itself has been compromised by either a blow or pierce. I wonder how that happened, and if that has anything to do with why Jerry is here. Lemmy has however taught me that it's rude to stare, even if you don't mean anything by it. It's so unfair that we are by nature inquisitive, and how society deems it uncivilized to satisfy our curiousity!

* * *

"...And that's how you spell "Kitties," Lemmy said and gave his baby brother a smile. "Can you say "Kitties"?"

Baby Iggy looked at the colorful wooden blocks with the letters on them. He read the word spelled on his side of the blocks, not Lemmy's side.

"Read the blocks, Iggy. Kit-ties."

"Dumb-ass!" the little one said, proud that he had both read and said his first word. In fact, little Iggy was so proud he just had to demonstrate his new skill to anyone who would listen. Surprisingly many, by the way.

Only a few weeks earlier everyone in the household had been climbing the walls. Little Iggy Koopa was a very fussy Koopa indeed. When he didn't sleep, he cried. All day.

One afternoon Bowser came up to the nursery where his wife sat with their youngest son on her arm. The window was open, and the silk curtain danced in the slight breeze. It was winter. Mama Koopa wore the ironed and starched yellow lace blouse Bowser had given her. The collar was wet from Iggy sucking on it, and she had spitty-up on her shoulder.

"Little wife, we'll be late. Too late. You know my mother and punctuality."

She ignored him. She had finally managed to get Iggy to relax a bit after nearly three hours of trying to reason with a baby that screamed as if the world was ending.

"I talked to Kamek," Bowser said. "I know you worry that Iggy has the same thing your brother does."

Mama Koopa closed her eyes and a single tear streaked her pale, unmade face. Bowser wanted to comfort his wife, so he turned on the light as to not step on toys.

As soon as the room was illuminated, the little Koopaling began fussing, and then crying. Bowser looked for a pacifier in his shell. Having four Koopalings had taught him a thing or two.

"Wait a minute," Mama Koopa said. "Honey, turn off the lights again."

The moment the lights came off, Iggy calmed down again. Though still sniffling, he was not not crying.

"Turn them on again."

Like she expected, little Iggy began whining.

"Your eyes are sensitive to the light, aren't they?" Mama asked while drying the tears off of her son's face. Everyone, including her, had thought that Iggy had colic, when all the while it was in his eyes.

King Dad and Mama Koopa took their Koopaling to the best koopediatrician in the country; Doctor Wolfgang von Bachstein. The soft light in "Dr. W. von Bachstein, Kinderarzt"'s office made it possible to examine Iggy without drama.

"Guten tag to you, young Herr," Dr. von Bachstein said and gingerly shook Iggy's little hand. Iggy, who usually did not allow strangers anywhere near him looked timidly up at the Koopa.

Baby Iggy was intrigued by Dr. von Bachstein's hair and when the physician put him over his shoulder to feel his weight, the Koopaling grabbed a bunch of it.

"Iggy, we don't do that," Mama Koopa rebuked.

"It's quite alright, Madame," Dr. von Bachstein said, because all koopediatricians have to deal with little Koopas who manage to be curious even when they're sick. Among other episodes, Dr. von Bachstein tried to administer some cough syrup to a navy-haired little Dragon Koopa, only to end up with the tyke's vomit in his coat pocket.

"Your's Sohn's a little too light for his age. I imagine it is difficult to _Stillen _him, yes?"

Mama Koopa nodded. "Yes, doctor. It's so hard to get him calm enough to give him any kind of food".

"Yes. Little Koopas can often feel Kopfschmerzen like a bellyache. That's why it can be hard for them to eat." He sat Iggy down on the bench while finishing the battery of physical tests. "Otherwize, your Sohn is in Vortrefflich health. The Gesündesten Kinder I've seen all week. How long has he been standing Mit your help?"

"For almost two months now, doctor. It was the last milestone before he started suffering the headaches."

Mama pursed her snout, feeling a little guilty. She had never taken the other Koopalings to a doctor. They had never really needed anything that one of Bowser's Koopamama's remedies couldn't fix.

"It's not a headache, Mein Frau," Dr. von Bachstein explained. "It is in your Sohn's eyes. He suffers from an astigmatism which makes him extra sensitive to Licht. One in every ten little Koopas has it."

When they returned a few days later Dr. von Bachstein, Kinderarzt had the cure for little Iggy's ills.

"Zeze glasses contain a filter between two lenses that only allows a tolerable amount of Licht into your eyes, Kleine one." The good doctor turned to Mama Koopa. "Ensuren that he wears zem during the day, and take them off him before Schlafenszeit. Do not worry, Mein Frau. Very soon your Sohn will pick up where he left off. Also feed him every two hours. I would like for Iggy to gain three pounds before starting with the solids."

Iggy touched his glasses, but didn't take them off. They felt good to wear and his tummy didn't hurt anymore. Dr. von Bachstein lifted him off the padded bench and sat with the Koopaling on the floor. With his hands held, Iggy managed to stand on his little feet. Wearing the glasses didn't affect his balance.

"Excellent!" The blue-haired doctor said with a cheerful smile and Iggy smiled back. "I will see you again in four weeks."

"Thank you, doctor, thank you." Mama Koopa was so relieved and happy as she lifted Iggy up into her arms.

Dr. von Bachstein would go on to help many other little Koopas like Iggy, until one day he decided to expand his practice and work not only with somatic diseases, but mental illness in young Koopas as well. Besides being an expert on little Koopa diseases he had another skill that made him a desirable addition the Freaky Fred Memorial staff.

* * *

The waiting area outside the doctor's office is already full of waiting patients, but Dr. Clawdia must have made an appointment in advance, because she opens the door to the office for me without even knocking first.

Dr. von Bachstein's office does not at all reflect his work with little Koopas. There are no chewed-on plastic toys, torn-up popup books or annoying posters with cartoon puppies reminding the looker to eat healthy and take their medicine. There is however a wall with crayon scribblings. Some have written their names, others have made interesting drawings. One of the manifestos catches my eye more than the others. It reads: "Steampunk is deader than disco". I almost chuckle.

Nurse Rugeley glares at Clawdia as she leaves before his gaze rests on me. "Dr. von Bachstein is probably still in the Institute pharmacy. Let's get you a gown."

A gown? What is this? Is the doctor gonna make me perform some demented role-play? I bare my fangs at Rugeley when he returns from the supply room adjacent to the office, but only for a second, because it's not a "gown" as I know it, but a night shirt. It's light blue and has a patch in front that reads "SOTE". Scum of the Earth.

"Humans, you see," Rugeley says as he ties the laces of the gown over my tail. The gown has a hole in it for my shell. "Expects everyone who talks with words and eats at a table to wear some kind of clothing."

I cross my arms over my chest. I feel more vulnerable wearing this than when I wore nothing. "Really?"

"M-hm," the nurse replies morosely. "If you visit one of their towns they even expect you to wear shoes."

I may not be like other Koopa boys, but even I refuse to believe such nonsense.

Dr. von Bachstein comes into the office as nurse Rugeley is fastening a plastic bracelet with my name on it to my wrist.

"Guten tag, young Herr," he says to me. His voice sounds so familiar. "Willkommen to Freaky Fred's." He wants to shake my hand, but I'm afraid, and try to retract into my shell, forgetting it's impossible because of the spike caps.

What I don't know is that Dr. von Bachstein finds these caps unnecessary and downright barbaric. He removes them.

Without much perfunctory conversation, the good doctor weighs me, measures me and checks the bloodwork and my admission papers before clipping a red piece of plastic to my bracelet.

"So that no one gives you Milch by accident. I fill also notify the kitchen staff. Luckily you are not the only one with this allergy here."

"Doctor, when can I go home?" I ask. It's all I want to know. Nothing else is on my mind right now. I don't understand why anyone has to be anywhere but where they live, unless they did something criminal and have to go to prison.

Dr. von Bachstein doesn't say anything, or try to touch me again. He doesn't have the answer, but he's a Koopa. He has to understand what it's like to be torn away from ones' family.

"You have nothing to fear from us, Iggy, Mein lieber."

"Then let me go home," I say defiantly. "I want my brothers, I want my bed and my things!"

"That's enough, Iggy," Dr. Clawdia says sternly as she opens the door. She must feel awfully comfortable in Dr. von Bachstein's office as she just sails in on her loud heels.

"Coat him," she barks at Nurse Rugeley. This order is not a popular one, I can see that from his frown.

"Dat fill hardly be necessary, Doctor Greenkoop. Herr Koopa has behaved himself impeccably today." All Nurse Rugeley does is to wipe the tears from my face with a soft napkin.

"No," I say as Dr. Clawdia approaches me with the coat.

The straitjacket is a garment of fear made of tightly woven, unforgiving canvas. Its sleeves reach to the floor and end in belts, one of which has a buckle. It looks more like a relic from a bygone horror movie era than something a respectable institution would even have in their supply.

I leap off the bench and hide under Dr. von Bachstein's desk. Dr. Clawdia, being a lady and all I guess, doesn't bother to reach under it, she pushes the furniture away, exposing me.

"No! Stay away from me!" I grab a pencil that's fallen off the desk and hold it in front of me. When Dr. Clawdia moves in closer, I react solely on instinct and stab Clawdia right in the foot.

I've understood that neither Dr. von Bachstein nor Nurse Rugeley ae tolerant of violence. That's why I don't blame them when they join forces in putting me in the coat.

Despite being a coat, it's not at all a warm garment. I feel as if I've lost both my arms. It's more unreal than any voice or pen pal. Trying to explain this earns me yet another prick above the elbow.

* * *

The floor is soft in here. It's wet too, since it's been a while since someone checked on me and regular mortal bodily functions dictates that one's bladder has to be evacuated at one point or another. It's not good to lie in a puddle of my own urine, but if anyone looks in though the window of the padded door and sees it... It's just oo embarrassing. I hide the piss with my body.

_I wanna smile_, someone has shakily written into the padded floor with a pen that was probably half dry at the time. _I wanna smile soooo bad_.

I do too, but that's not what I claw into the padding right next to it. It's not a word, but a drawing that I work on to relieve the boredom and isolation. It's a windmill. And what an interesting windmill it is. I however am not interesting, or a windmill.

I'm Iggy Koopa.

And that's the only Koopa I have ever wanted to be.


	3. Iggy Koopa's Creepy Correspondence

**Wee! This chapter was so much fun to write. However, I had to split it in two, otherwise it would be too long to read and review comfortably. Enjoy!**

* * *

The Kastle Koopa laboratory was just as creepy as you think it was, and you're right; once you're in there there's no way out. Intruders caught trespassing into Bowser's fortress would rather starve in the dungeons or be thrown into the pit of ravenous Chomps than becoming one of the oldest Koopa prince's guinea pigs. Not that they had a choice… And thanks to their invaluable "contributions", Ludwig had managed to develop cures for many diseases, such as restless tail syndrome and kooperculosis, and finally, after years of research and exhausting studies, discovered what color blood was.

His most extensive and ambitious project lay before him, and was unfortunately wedged between the less objective thoughts of Ludwig's mind and the plethora of letters on the table before him. Knowing it would cloud his judgment even further; Ludwig von Koopa still opened them one by one. In many of them Iggy was merely jotting down the business of his day, in others his "pen pal" took over and gave vivid descriptions of the things typical to it; death and violence, and of course, the stolen heart and soiled rose. Some of these pages were complete with graphic illustrations. He frowned at the one where a Koopa had been completely cut open and disemboweled.

Ludwig did not believe that Iggy had a split personality, however. If there was any kind of psychological rupture it as to Iggy's sense of reality. While Ludwig was hardly the picture of mental health himself, he had for a very long time known just how ill his brother was. Lemmy had also sensed it, but he was convinced he could talk Iggy out of his bouts of psychotic fury. This had come at an awful price – Lemmy's right eye was still so lazy that looking at any object too close up rendered him completely cockeyed. Mama Koopa had been the only one able to calm him down.

"_Please, Kooky,"_ it read, "_Please tell King Dad I won't be bad ever again. If only he'll let me come home I'll be good and not a burden I swear_."

Ludwig folded it back up, but another postcard fell out from the stack. _"Ludwig, why aren't you writing back? I'm here all alone all day, and something to read would be of immense comfort. Please write back soon, I'm Iggy and you can write things, I know."_

This letter was in the wrong pile. Iggy had written it while he recovered from his suicide attempt at the Institute's observation ward. He had to spend two weeks there to establish a diagnosis. Ludwig had, in secrecy, searched his father's desk to find the papers from Freaky Fred's. Koopa, Ignatius Hop had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Ludwig did not find this conclusion satisfactory. Yes, it did explain Iggy's delusions and his disturbed thought and speech patterns, but not necessarily his violent fantasies, and this diagnosis certainly did not justify the appalling amount of drugs he had been prescribed.

Ludwig had hacked his way into the Institute's patient database; to his surprise the sensitive information was rather poorly guarded. The result of Iggy's blood work was not promising. While his mineral and vitamin levels were steadily rising he was still iron deficient. Iggy had only been at the Institute for four weeks, so Ludwig decided not to take action just yet.

Lemmy came into the lab snacking on a piece of butter toast.

"Toast in the middle of the night?" Ludwig said, puzzled. Lemmy raised an eyebrow.

"It's 9.30 am, Kooky. King Dad made scrambled eggs. I had to give Roy a knuckle-rubbing to the head to get some of it. I doubt they saved anything for you."

Ludwig rubbed a whole night of hard work out of his eyes. He saw himself reflected in an instrument pan. He was pale and his eyes had dark circles, just like Iggy's. Lemmy was just three years younger than him, and that's not much for a Dragon Koopa as they don't even enter their teens until they're 25 human years. The tiny Koopaling was healthy and playful while Ludwig tried to remember if he himself had ever enjoyed playing around for fun.

"How's he doing?" Lemmy asked as he opened the letters that were addressed to him.

"Not much has changed since yesterday." Ludwig put on the electric kettle and poked around in a tea tin for either a bag of instant soup or cocoa.

"Is that your breakfast?" Lemmy said as his brother sat down. "That's not very good for your kidneys, you know. Too much salt and sugar."

Ludwig von Koopa just stirred his tomato soup with croutons and sipped it. "You sound just like your mother."

Mama Koopa was not Ludwig's mother. Ludwig could scarcely remember the woman who bore him, and died when he was very little. For a while it had only been Bowser and Ludwig, until Bowser was advised by his mother, who was a stubborn, stern Koopa woman, to find a new wife.

Mama Koopa came from an old noble family from Sea Side. If she opposed the arranged marriage it wasn't worth the effort as she was rather young when she came to live at Kastle Koopa. Ludwig remembered meeting her for the first time. He had bit her hand and laughed. He was glad she never told his brothers about that. He knew that she would want nothing more than be a mother to him, but didn't force anything.

Thinking about Mama Koopa made Lemmy smile with sad eyes. "We _were_ right to send Iggy away to the hospital, right?" He sounded quite guilty.

"He opened an artery on himself, so yes, unless we had gotten him to the emergency room he would have died. If you mean the Institute you'd still be right."

Lemmy nodded. "It's just that… We all agreed, but none of us have ever been so far away from home this long."

"He held a pair of scissors to our baby sister's forehead. He put your head through a wall. He shoved…"

"Don't you dare blame him for that!" Lemmy interrupted, and the conviction in his squeaky voice made it just as frightening as one of Bowser's roars. "He can't help it."

Ludwig bit into his lower snout. "I'm not saying he can. But I'm the oldest Koopaling. King Dad reprimands me if one you get hurt."

They were quiet as they sorted the letters. "Ludwig, why won't you just write him? If you'd just write a thought or two on what's up in the world these days you'd make him super happy."

"No, I would be adding fuel to the fire." Ludwig sealed the cardboard box, stuffed with letters, before putting it away in a locker. "King Dad has forbidden it," he lied, and Lemmy saw right through it.

"I don't believe you. King Dad says we Koopalings have to always make sure we can reach each other. Why are you being so weird about it anyway?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes; it was Roy who was easy to inveigle, not Lemmy. "Fine, if you're so convinced it'll make Iggy feel better, why don't you write him?"

The tiniest Koopaling raised the brow of his healthy eye. "Because it's you he wants to hear from." He thought about all the times he had told an upset and nyctophobic Iggy to please sleep in his own bed.

"Iggy, Ludwig and I are just inches away from you." Lemmy sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Go to bed," he added, trying to sound stern.

"No, don't make me be alone," Iggy begged. He was still so little he had to wear a blanket sleeper that his mother had knitted him. "I'll be quiet if you let me sleep next to you."

Lemmy had pity on him. He knew that he should probably encourage Iggy to develop a measure of independence as getting his own room had rocked his world. He had probably believed he was going to sleep in the hatchling crib in Mama Koopa and King Dad's bed chamber forever. But there's no such thing as forever. He had to give that up when Roy got sick with the Toad flu. Lemmy had also come down with this at the same time as Roy, but recovered a lot faster because he was a good little Koopa and took his medicine like he was told.

Iggy stopped shivering the moment he was picked up. He curled up while Lemmy removed his glasses. "Lemmy?" he asked as the blanket was tucked around him. "What happens when we die?"

Lemmy was old enough to have had Roy ask him the same thing. But he didn't ask what happened afterwards; he just wanted to know what the word meant. Iggy was very bright for his age and already capable of complex abstract thoughts.

"I don't know," he answered, just longing to go back to sleep. He had a spelling test the next day and just _had_ to remember that the word "bee" didn't have an "N" in it. It goes without saying that Lemmy struggled in Koopergarten. "I've never died before."

"Really?" Iggy's vision was foggy without his glasses, for which he tried to compensate by widening his eyes, a habit which gave him his trademark dazed expression. "But you've done everything else, right?"

Lemmy was perhaps the second oldest of the Koopalings, however, he was quite naïve. "I don't think so. I don't have my own castle, or anything. And I haven't been to the library alone yet."

"You have more toys than me." Iggy pointed out.

"That's because I've had more birthdays than you." Lemmy planted his head on the pillow. Iggy was still not satisfied with his brother's answers. Something else was weighing heavily on his very young mind.

"Are you a robot?" He asked, frowning. "Is that a wire?" He pointed at a prominent vein on Lemmy's wrist.

"What?" Lemmy burst into a giggle, which only seemed to antagonize Iggy. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I knew it!" Little Iggy sat up. "Mama and King Dad knew the real Lemmy would die from being sick!" He was pointing his tiny, delicate claw at Lemmy, who was still confused. "Kooky built a robot lookalike so I wouldn't cry when Lemmy died!"

Lemmy was still just a little Koopa himself, but a lot of his childlike imagination had lost territory to the ability of edifying and not to mention feasible ideas. Iggy's brain however was developing both at the same time, which must have been exhausting for someone as highly strung as him.

"Iggy, it's me. I'm the real Lemmy." The Koopaling sat up and approached Iggy, who was panting.

"No," Iggy whispered. "You killed him when he got better. You wanted his toys all for yourself. And now you want mine, too." Tears welled up in his large eyes. "You are a mean robot. I'm telling!"

It was the very first time Lemmy had witnessed that something wasn't quite right with his brother. Seeing Iggy lose touch with reality frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

"Iggy, I'm not a robot, I promise." Lemmy tried to pull the comforter off his brother, who was now hiding under it, trembling like a leaf. "I didn't die. The doctor gave me medicine that helped. You saw me taking it. It tasted terrible, but it made me better."

Iggy was still shaking, and audibly gnashing his teeth.

"Please, let me have some blanket. I can't sleep if I'm cold."

The Koopaling underneath whimpered for a while, but decided to come out. "I didn't know robots could get cold."

"They can't," Lemmy said curtly without adding a "you nimrod". "Iggy, we have to sleep now, it's almost nine pm!"

He quickly found his pillow, but Iggy sat wide awake for a while, counting his brother's breaths. After a while he got too tired to count anymore, besides, he didn't know any numbers beyond twenty. That would come later, so he began making up funny words instead.

One of the upsides to being completely mad is that one rarely is bored.

Now, Lemmy watched as Ludwig prepare for a new day by putting on his latex gloves and lab coat. He decided to write Iggy the best letter in the whole world.

"Iggy, this is Lemmy. I miss you a lot but King Dad says to me that you're sick and that sick Koopas need to be in the hospital. King Dad misses you too and he really likes your drawings. I fed your hissers and ant farm and given your birdeater a massage. I think he's dead. I love you Iggy, from Lemmy."

After he had mailed it, it was his time to put on his work gear. Iggy used to assist Ludwig in projects that required small or at least slender hands; Kooky's were neither. Now that Iggy was gone Lemmy had been trusted with his old tasks.

Lemmy thought back on everything Ludwig had been through for his newest and most difficult project to become possible. It was quite a fascinating tale, you know...

* * *

**Really, _really_ fascinating!**


	4. Iggy Koopa's Saving Grace

**Second half of Ludwig and Lemmy's chapter. Next one will be all Iggy! Can't wait? Me neither! :D**

* * *

The brothers both put on latex gloves and lab coats before they entered the aseptic area of Ludwig's lab.

At the same time as the budding science prodigy that was Ludwig von Koopa saw his siblings grow in numbers, said genius had also learned of King Bowser's program designed to put an end to the endemic of destitute Koopa mothers abandoning and even destroying eggs they couldn't provide for. He therefore made it safe and legal for these women to leave unwanted eggs in foundling nests outside the walls surrounding the castle. Any member of the Koopa Troop was also required by the new law to accept eggs given to them and bring them to Kastle Koopa, where a select team of Magikoopas sorted them by species and hatched them. Some were adopted, but a great number of these foundlings received food and shelter, as well as training, healthcare and education courtesy of King Bowser. When they grew up they had the choice of leaving the castle and Dark Land or remain with the Troop. Most stayed behind out of gratitude and the security a career in the Koopa Troop offered. You'd never guess it by looking at him, but Bowser loved children and sincerely as well as correctly believed they were the future of the nation. The thought of hungry, cold little Koopas and Goombas in his own kingdom could keep him awake at night. He shook his head in disbelief over other realms, such as those of humans, who would rather let children starve than make the citizens pay taxes so the state could provide for them, all because of their precious "freedom". If Dark Land had been a democracy, the only freedom the people would have was that to starve.

"Put a hairnet on," Ludwig said, "And then step into the pool."

There was a little pool outside the sterile hatchery Ludwig had built. All visitors had to wear gloves, hairnets and have their feet disinfected before entering. Lemmy had to squint; the lab was so incredibly white and antiseptic it was as if every germ on his body tried to escape from the surface, fearing for their lives. "I won't let anything happen to you guys," Lemmy whispered to the poor little germs.

The door to the hatchery looked like an entire slab of glass, but upon approaching it a laser shot out from it, and after reading the insignia on their lab coats the glass parted in the middle, letting them in.

"It's like a movie of some kind," Lemmy said. He wanted to go through the fancy door one more time, but knew Ludwig's stance on excessive door opening.

Ludwig put a key card suspended from a lanyard on his pocket into the slot of a white, slanted hard drive. "Computer," he said, and the slot glowed blue.

The computer answered him in a female voice. This voice had once belonged to a prisoner who tried to escape, but a few weeks in the dungeon had perhaps taken its toll on her memory. Instead of taking the right stairwell which led to the kitchen and the relatively poorly guarded servants' entrance, she took the left one and ended up in Ludwig's lab.

The Koopaling had promised to let her leave the castle once she had recorded all the words on his list. He didn't see any reason not to honor his promise, but Bowser was furious.

"This woman tried to rob us!" He roared as he dragged the pale and emaciated Koopa woman by the nape of her neck over to the lab's exit.

"But King Dad, she still has fourteen words to record!" Ludwig followed them with his voice recorder. It was too late. Bowser took her to the door with a sign hammered to it that read ꜟ_Peligro_! When the King brought someone behind that door they didn't come back. Later Ludwig learned that the Koopa lady was a spy sent to steal one of the magic jewels of the treasury. She didn't get it, but she had achieved immortality. Sort of.

"Voice recognized, the computer said. "Today is Friday, hour ten."

Ludwig pulled a lever on a control panel with its many fancy, blinking buttons and switches covered in a thick sheet of plastic. Although necessary, Ludwig didn't like the design. Pressing the buttons required too much force and these days ergonomics mattered a great deal to both the scientific community and those asswipes of the Nobel committee.

The tiled floor opened up and a large stasis tank emerged seamlessly. Lemmy's eyes widened; it was almost like something out of _Batman_.

"Riddle me this, Lemmy." Ludwig said, because of his inventions this was his _pièce de résistance. _"What does it take to bring a half-dead, unborn sibling safely and unharmed into this world without risking neither your neck nor your allowance?"

* * *

"I don't like it when you joke about death and our finances, Kooky," Lemmy said. Being a wet blanket was uncharacteristic of him, but staying in Ludwig's lab any longer than ten minutes at a time always changed people for the worse one way or another.

"Ten gallons of pure primordial ooze," Ludwig announced as if there had been no interruption. "Harvested from the very bottom of Vanilla Lake, where it has been untouched by both evolution and the garbage patches."

"But Vanilla Lake is bottomless," Lemmy said and his eyes veered out in different directions again. "That's why they have Lakitus stationed there to fish up people who fall in."

"It's not bottomless," Ludwig corrected; still smug as a snake. "It does have a bottom according to the Doomsub's sonar, but the sub's hull is not designed for abyssal dives. I found a large pool of the ooze in an inactive submarine volcano. It's been filtered clear without removing any of its nutrients, minerals and antibodies."

The liquid the computer filled the vitro tank with was clear as water yet retained a sickly green glow.

"Extract of sea lettuce," Ludwig explained. "It's a high protein alga rich in several vitamins and minerals. Not enough glucose, though, which is why I took it on myself to cultivate this as well."

A glass vial that looked a lot like a miniature version of the vitro tank contained –

"A genuine food sac and umbilical cords, grown from stem cells harvested from the inside of the shell."

Ludwig told his hands not to tremble as he unscrewed the lid. The accident that claimed Mama Koopa's life had almost claimed her egg as well, but it had been saved by an emergency delivery. While Bowser stayed behind at the hospital so say goodbye to his wife, Ludwig had taken it home to Kastle Koopa. Unfortunately, as the egg was laid prematurely its shell had not yet fused sufficiently around the albumen. The midkoopa had handled it like she would a normal egg, and it broke. There are levels of this; a broken eggshell isn't necessarily a game over, but upon lab inspection Ludwig found a rupture in the food sac, which almost always means death for an eggling.

Ludwig managed to save the eggling by placing it in an artificial egg made of gelatin plates which could retain fluid on the inside and dissolve if immersed in liquid which was perfect. Well, if there was such a thing. That's why he was shaking. He didn't know what would happen. The electrodes placed outside the egg could only collect a limited amount of data on the eggling's health. On an incredibly selfish base on Ludwig's behalf this was somewhat good.

Mother Koopas have a deep connection with their eggs that go far beyond the realms of science. They trust this instinct to tell them everything they need to prepare for their hatchling's arrival. The next generation vitro tank was designed to do the same thing, just easier to understand for a dude.

"What's he doing now?" Lemmy asked, referring to the eggling as a "he" although no one would know for sure until the hatched Koopaling utilized its excretory organs for the first time. "Is he playing?"

Ludwig checked the eggling, which was 25 metric centimeters in length and weighed about 800 metric grams. The head still comprised most of its body weight, but finally the development of the limbs and plastron had begun to pick up the pace.

"Right now he's dreaming." Ludwig checked the primitive EEG recordings. He was incredibly relieved to see that the sleep spindles that had been rife and intense when the eggling's neocortex had begun to form had not appeared in the last 36 hours. The little one was flexing his tiny little fingers. All at once, then one by one. The eggling's development was actually so advanced he prepared for hatching.

Lemmy approached the artificial egg to get a closer look. "Ludwig?"

"M-hm?" Ludwig grunted.

"What does he dream about? Do you think he dreams about Mama?"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow as he finished writing on his clipboard. Time for that talk. Not _that_ that-talk.

"Lemmy, when he or she gets a little older, they will probably ask us what happened to Mama Koopa," the eldest Koopaling said and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "When they do…"

"Maybe he won't believe that it was an accident." Lemmy sighed.

A robot hand very gingerly lifted the artificial egg onto a metal table and secured it. "Preparing egg for transplant," the computer said. Ludwig took out a tray of sterilized instruments from the antiseptic refrigerator.

"Are you ready?" He asked Lemmy, who nodded and fastened his rubber apron. His responsibilities would be clamping the flaps of albumen sac, suction, and cotton. They had practiced successfully on several Spiny eggs, and now it was time for the real McCoy. An umbilical transplant is usually a rather simple procedure as it doesn't require cutting into the eggling itself. It does however have the ten nerve-wracking seconds where the oxygen and nutrient supply is cut off. In most cases it is inconsequential, but Ludwig worried over the eggling's history of sleep spindles. Sleep spindles can be indicative of mental retardation in some individuals and Ludwig didn't want to aggravate the existing challenges of the already vulnerable unborn.

Ludwig used his sharpest scalpel to create a flap in the egg's surface, while Lemmy vacuumed up the pieces.

"Clamp," Ludwig said as he made an incision in the eggling's plastron. It was as soft and delicate as butter. "Suction."

The little one didn't bleed much as most of the blood was in its brain.

The umbilical cords seemed to want to attach themselves to the right veins in the eggling's body. Ludwig fused them in place with a needle-sized cauterization tool.

Lemmy wiped Ludwig's forehead. "Sutures," Ludwig ordered, because his hands were too big to suture such a tiny, frail being. The umbilical cords were now attached to the eggling's liver, where nutrients and toxins would be filtered and either neutralized or utilized. The food sac was pumping its nutritious paste every three seconds, like that of a normal egg.

The robotic arms of the vitro tank reacted to the presence of the eggling when Lemmy rolled the plastic bassinet close. Safely, the egg was now placed in the tank, which fluid would dissolve the dry gelatin shell in a matter of hours. The work was done, for now, but Ludwig was too full of adrenaline to sit down.

"To answer your question, I don't think he or she is capable of forming images in their brain right now. Likely its dreams consist of voices and sounds it has heard."

Lemmy required a lot of sleep and a lot of food, because he was tiny and very active, so Ludwig ordered him to eat and go to bed. He decided to stay behind and wait for the gelatin to dissolve. Unfortunately for him, this would take its sweet time and before he knew what had hit him he had fallen asleep in his notes.


	5. Iggy Koopa's New Happy Place

**Look guys, free candy van outside! Seems legit :)**

* * *

Too mortified to speak or even blink, I'm lead out of the padded cell the next day. Rugeley doesn't stare at my dirtied garments, just quietly shows me to the gentlemen's washroom.

It's very spacious and inviting, almost like the bath at home. There are several bathtubs, shower stalls, sinks and toilets, and even a small swimming pool. Nurse Rugeley won't let me near it. He makes me wait by the low, shallow bathtub while he fills it. "So, what do you think? Nivea or Mr. Bubble?" He asks while unlocking a supply closet.

I pick the non-pink one and sit down in the tub. The water is perfect, however I soon find that my own hygiene regime differs a great deal from that of the other residents. You see, spending most of the day the dungeon makes me enjoy cleanliness. There's no running water or soap down there, so I have to clean myself with other means. I lick myself.

Starting with my arms I moisten them, then rub my face in them. My scales feel dry and coarse against my tongue, which is slick. My eyelids begin twitching; I don't like that some areas of my body are dry while others are wet. How does it know what goes where all on its own? I didn't order my tongue to be wet. But it's a good thing it is, as without a moist tongue I'd be quite dirty.

"What are you doing?" nurse Rugeley asks, and his otherwise stoic self seems genuinely shocked by witnessing this.

"I'm washing myself," I reply. Can't he see that? I don't like that he comes this close. My pen pal has left me a note that tells me to hurt Rugeley. But I don't want to, so I warn the nurse by lunging my claws at him. My glasses are on top of my neatly folded and waiting new garb, and without them, my depth perception is limited. I didn't mean to rip a hole in his sleeve. He doesn't seem to mind.

"That's fine, but I have something here that'll make the job go twice as fast and make you twice as clean."

He has my attention, and I feel bad for what I did, so I let him show me how to use the loofah. It's soft, almost as soft as my tongue.

If this were a horror story, there would be rain outside. Instead the morning sun peers through the wire-clad windows, and I can feel it warming my shoulders as Rugeley rinses the soap off.

"This is cold cream," he says as he opens a little plastic jar. He rubs my knees and elbows in with it. "Do this every day," he says, "Or you'll dry out like a stranded moon jelly."

* * *

The walls of the empty dayroom are sterile and cold, and the light from the sun and the spot lamps distorts my shadow; it looks like an alien or some surreal tree. I put my one hand over the wrist of the other to see if I can make them look like a bird. It does; a bird with big, spidery wings. When I stand on the coffee table, and hunch over my shadow looks like a flamingo.

I get wrapped up in how my shadow gets to be whatever he wants, while I'm static; just Iggy. I want to be Iggy, but my shadow doesn't always. If he's really a bird, why is he attached to me? Don't birds usually just fly away?

"What are you doing?" A girl asks.

"Being a bird," I reply, because I'm not done being a bird yet.

"I'm Shelly Koopa," she says. Her voice is rusty, almost as if atrophied from lack of use. "Who the hell are you?"

Miss Shelly is a Koopa Troopa with pasty, dry scales and an equally dry mane of pink hair, which reminds me of Dr. Clawdia's but is shorter and darker. She is so thin she at first made me think of a human, and almost disgust me. King Dad always tells me that a lady should be kept warm, well-fed, spoiled and happy. Call me old-fashioned, but I agree with him. It's a man's job to take care of a lady. Keep all the evils of these sinful worlds away from her. If Shelly had been protected by a loving father, brother or husband her long, spidery fingers would not be brown with nicotine, nor would her lips form foul words.

She holds out her hand for me to shake, and doesn't seem surprised or disappointed that I don't take it. I do answer her question. "I'm Iggy," I say and inhale the scent of her.

Ludwig once told me that smoking is incredibly bad for you. He listed all the ways this habit can kill a person, everyone of them more slow and painful than the last it seems. How anyone can know all this and still do it boggles my mind.

"You're the new kid," she says. "My newest 'little brother'. I'd like to show you something."

I follow her. Mostly because her angry eyes give me no choice.

"This is my room," she says with a hint of possessiveness as she opens a door two doors away from mine. Her room is clearly lived in, and she has a wooden bed without wheels as well as a little rug on the floor. Next to the desk is the predictable pile of colorful stuffed animals found in all girls' rooms. Shelly also has her very own record player. It's the same as the one I have at home. All my brothers got one for Christmas one year. She walks over to a wall that's full of photographs framed with what appears to be construction paper and the gold and silver paper around candy bars.

The subjects of the photographs are all Koopa ladies; pretty attractive too. They do lose some points in my book. They all share the expression Shelly has. Cold and angry.

"I descend from a long line of mad, beautiful women," Shelly says as if this was common knowledge to the gentry and fascinating to me, a leek-headed commoner. "We've all experienced first-hand what a world void of asylum we live in."

"Who's that?" I ask and point to one of the few photographs that are in color.

"That's my aunt Anhedonia," Shelly says. "She was a lamb to the slaughter which is my big, happy dysfunctional family. She was horribly abused a child. Winter was worst, when icy ground would landlock her in that house of horrors. All that she could deal with. But her sweetheart leaving her for another she could not. So she threw herself off the town bridge and into the icy river below."

Shelly's face is dreamy, as if this is a legacy to be proud of.

"Her heart stopped almost immediately. She had known happiness just as briefly. Being dead on the inside all your life and suddenly feeling alive for the first time in forever, only to have it snatched back by someone who professed to loving you."

Shelly sighs in malplaced contentment and smiles briefly before her cruel eyes stares at me again. "What is happiness, leek-head?" she barks. She obviously doesn't expect me to answer; "Illusion! There are birds and there are gophers. A bird is free to fly both high and low, but a gopher can't ever leave the ground. The birds forbid it."

"What does that mean?" I ask. This girl is scary.

"That only some have choices." Shelly deflates completely and sits down on her bed. I don't want to be around her anymore, so I scoff at her. That someone can be as strange as her riddles me. I leave Miss Blacklung to her thoughts, but I forget that I have no place to storm off to. I end up by the main entrance to the ward, which is sealed up tighter than a jar of my great Koopamama's homemade pickles. I had no illusions, rare for me, huh? Of a different outcome, but at least as I stand here I'm far away from Smoky Joan.

She soon joins me, looking out through the window on the other half of the double door. "I'm sorry if I touched a nerve," she says. "But you're my fourth little brother in a year, so I tought I might as well rant a little while you're still here."

Still here? "Still here?" I ask.

Shelly frowns, as if I should already know this. "The other all killed themselves. One banged his head into the wall until he became a vegetable. His family pulled the plug two weeks ago. Another ran away and when cornered by the cops, threw himself in front of a truck. He was all over the pavement." This doesn't make Shelly sad nor upset, just annoyed. I don't know it at this point, but later I learned this kind of stoicism and indifference towards cruelty is a byproduct of being locked up like Shelly has for too long.

"If they had been my only mad family, _and _the most mad of the two, maybe I'd mourn some more. But I don't." She smiles. It's not a friendly smile, but her words finally make sense.

"How long have you been here?" I ask, hoping she can offer me some clarity on how long I'm gonna stay here.

"Four years," she says, and it's as if her eyes get darker. "Four miserable years. I thought I'd finally get to breathe in some new air when my other hospital burned down, but no such luck. My fine little keister was parked here, and it's not gonna move any time soon. The world doesn't like it when girls say no."

Because she doesn't seem particularly insane (anymore), and because she basically invited me to, I ask her: "Who did _you _kill?"

"My stepdad," she replies flatly, as if I just asked her about the time. "The bastard just wouldn't keep his greasy mitts off my mother's money, or me." She sighs. "He's gone now. Too bad I was the one who had to pay the ultimate price. I'm a lifer here, Iggy."

I feel as if someone has punched me in the gut with fists made of ice. "So that's it then? We're trapped in this place forever?"

White-hot tears are pressing on behind my eyeballs. I can't hold them back. Being cut off from my family forever? Never again shall I go treasure hunting with Lemmy in the cozy Piranha Plant forest. Reading and jumping up and down in Ludwig's lab. No more. I won't get to have my yogurt stolen and snout punched by Roy anymore. My baby brother and sister have soothed their teething gums on my carapace for the last time. And King Dad. When will he ever tell me he's proud of me again? Never, that's when!

"It is what it is, leek-head," Shelly says. "By the way, if you're planning to steal one of my training bras to hang yourself with, you can find the cafeteria on your own."

A deep breath turns into a sob, and the sob is really more of a deep, gasping crying spell. It's hard to stand on my feet, so I sink to my knees and over on my side. Shelly has upset me, so I hide my face from her in my arms while pulling my knees up to my chin. My heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces that are shredding my insides, tearing me apart. I put my tail around myself for some comfort and safety, but it's still just a kid tail, so it won't go all the way.

"Oh, Iggy, please stop. I didn't mean it." Shelly strokes my face. "I'm so sorry."

I just go on crying like a little Koopa. Acting ones' age can be quite liberating. I'm not crying because Shelly insulted me. Okay then - it's part of it, but not the biggest part.

"Hey," she says as if something big dawns on her. "You're a Koopaling, aren't you? You're Iggy Koopa!"

"What's it to you?" I sob, still covering my face with my crossed arms.

"I remember you from all the teen magazines. You and your brothers are pretty popular, you know."

"No, I don't know. Mama Koopa and King Dad has always kept the press and fans far away from us."

I have always been sheltered from the fame monster and instead studied and practiced hard, and been helpful to my brothers, like my father insisted on. King Dad wants me to be the best Iggy I can be, and he has given me everything to make sure my dreams come true. For that he will always have my loyalty and respect. It's just gonna be so hard to show him that from here.

"I know that too. It said in the magazine I read that your dad once roasted a paparazzi for trying to shoot pictures of you and your brother while you were playing in the sandbox." She sits down next to me, but she doesn't touch me. That's very considerate of her.

"All I'm saying's that you're a blue-blood and all, probably never been anywhere without your family, am I right?"

I nod. "Mama told us to never break away from each other. King Dad says a family is even more precious than a treasure chamber full of candy and coins."

King Dad doesn't actually say that in words. Mama did. He lets us know by giving us have more dessert.

"I hurt my mom," I say, and this time Shelly does touch me, by putting her smelly hand on my shoulder. "It's my fault she's gone. But it was an accident, I swear! I didn't mean it!"

I have no idea why I'm pouring my shattered heart out on a complete stranger, but I can't help it. Being in a closure like this does things to you.

"Iggy," Shelly says. "I read about Queen Koopa in the newspaper. No one in the world thinks you did it on purpose. You were just a kid."

"You were just a kid and did what you had to," I point out, wiping my tears.

"Yeah, but I'm a girl," Shelly says flatly. "Nobody wants to see a girl defending herself. That's not _pretty_."

She helps me to my feet. "It's lunchtime. Pretty soon everyone's gonna be lined up around this door waiting to get herded downstairs."

* * *

The cafeteria is roomy and not at all that bad. Its windows, though with chicken wire on the outside, have a view of the garden. Nurse Rugeley sits with us at the table as well, across me. I like him. His grouchiness reminds me of home.

For some reason I'm not allowed to stand in line for my meal next to all the knives and forks, and neither is Jerry. We get serviced, and he jokes about it. Today's lunch is hoagies with turkey, lettuce and whole grain nachos on the side. Mine comes in a wrapper with a picture of a cow with a red line across it. The others have half-pints of milk while I and a Koopa boy with a band-aid across his snout have boxes of Vitasoy.

The food looks delicious. Those who prepares the meals around here it obviously does so with care and consideration. It's just that everything is so unreal. I'm not in the world where I belong anymore. Someone has removed me from there and placed me here. And they're providing for me; food and lodgings. And the larger group has allowed me into their midst and made me privy to their secret culture. They wouldn't accept me this readily if they didn't believe I have something they desire. I don't know what that could possibly be. And if it turns out I don't have it, what will they do to me? Find other ways for me to be useful? I can build things, but not without Ludwig. That would be boring.

A lunch lady is cutting up lettuce. The knife in her hand shines mercilessly under the germ-killing lamplight, and reminds me of that night, that night I stood on the Bloody Stairs. The same lunch lady probably cut the meat. I drop my fork. Not this again.

The smell of blood is overpowering; like metal and dead fish. But now it's in my mouth, too, spilling out from my taste buds and poisoning them in the process. Disease and death all in one. My teeth are drowning in blood. If I open my mouth I'll salivate blood.

My heart is racing, like hearts tend to do when Koopas need to act out their primal instincts. Before I get that far, the kind Pianta nurse who let me out of the padded cell earlier this morning comes over to the SOTE table.

"Iggy?"

Upon hearing my own name, I scream a little.

"When you're done eating it's time for your session with Clawdia."

I immediately rise from the table and come with her. She had lined up next to Rugeley to bring me the message, which was a good idea keeping in mind my history of foot-stabbing. But now that we're in the elevator she's in front of me. I have succeeded in repressing my primal instincts. But there is a certain price to pay, so when the elevator stops, I puke all over Nurse Pianta's shoes. I don't get why she's yelling so loudly. The vomit has hardly got any blood in it.

* * *

Ludwig has been committed before. At the time I was too little to understand what was going on, but he told me something later that has stuck with me nonetheless.

_"If you see toys and stuffed animals in a kid shrink's office, consider yourself cured and run for the exit."_

Dr. Clawdia takes me to what looks more like a nursery than an office. It has a low table with a tea set on it, a bay window with several kinds of dolls and a dollhouse, and even a large rocking horse. The curtains, the only curtains I've seen so far in this hospital are white lace. There's a large mirror on the wall that makes the room look twice as big.

"Iggy," Dr. Clawdia says as she closes and locks the door. "Let's sit down in the window today."

She carries my private ring binder, which she puts in her lap. "Iggy, when you were transferred from Toad Town General to the Institute, your father gave me a collection of your... correspondence with your "pen pal". Today I'd like for us to talk about him."

I have never witnessed anything as awkward or embarrassing as seeing her rummage around in my ring binder and put the drawings and letters out. The fresh memory of my conversation with Shelly rattles its spooky shackles and I begin sobbing again.

"Am I gonna be here forever?" I don't care how pathetic I look as I hide my face in my knees. "Please don't pull the plug on me; I don't wanna be a vegetable!"

"Iggy, there's no crying allowed in this room." She wipes my face and smiles. "Our goal while we're in here is to build this room inside your mind. It's going to be so warm and cosy, and you can invite your friends in there all the time. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Afraid words will turn into whimpering I nod. Because I really would like my mind to be a better place.

She holds up the drawings I've made. It's a picture of my pen pal buried alive.

"But I took care of him," I insist. "He can't hurt me if he's under the ground."

"Iggy, anyone who would want to visit a world like this is very ill. Just like you are now."

There's a jug and some glasses on a tray on the antique sideboard. She pours me some of the water.

"Like any sick person would you also have to take medicine for your illness." She presents me a little plastic cup with two pills in it, one red, two green.

"I don't want to take any medicine, Dr. Clawdia." I try to keep my voice from sounding excited. Happy place, remember?

"Iggy, I talked this over with your father and the other doctors. We all agreed that you need this medicine. It will help you."

"No..." My eyes tear up again. I slide down from the bay window and hide in the corner by a toy cot full of rag dolls.

Clawdia follows me.

"Go away!" I can't hold back the tears anymore and curl up once more. There are just too many strangers in here.

"Iggy, why do you refuse to take in this lovely room in favor of the yucky darkness you live in now? You do understand that until you stop doing that I can't let you out?"

I spread my fingers just enough to catch a glimpse of her.

"What?"

"That's a good question. "What" would your brothers, sister and father say if they knew you'd rather remain in the darkness instead of learning how to love them? Is that how you want those around you to feel? Alone in the dark?"

"No!" I shake my head and spray some drool as well.

"Maybe not." Dr. Clawdia writes something on her clipboard and I sincerely hope it has nothing to do with the drool. "But until you start taking the medicine I don't believe you mean it."

"But I want you to believe me," I say. "Lying is bad." I hold my hand out for her pills. It trembles, so I almost lose them on the way to my mouth. They have a sugar coating that tastes like cara-mints. It's good and not like blood.

"That's very good," she says approvingly. After I've taken the pills all we do is sit there. She says kind words and even lets me play with one of the star bunny plushies. I found it in the big toy box and its ears were all tangled up, so now I straighten them out. How strange; now I feel like giving myself a bath again. That's until I begin feeling lightheaded.

"You've been through a lot today," Dr. Clawdia says. "So I'm calling Nurse Pianta to get you back to your bed." The head-head doctor helos me up. "But because you acted out during lunch today and resisted medication you will have to wear poseys tonight."

This makes my face pucker up again. "But I'm a good Iggy. Really."

"It's only for tonight, dear. Look at you." she chuckles. "You're so exhausted you'll fall asleep at once anyway."

Nurse Rugeley fastens my wrists with the aforementioned restraints. It's not too tight. I don't pay much attention to it as I can still taste the medicine in my mouth.

Strangers always have the best candy.


	6. Iggy Koopa's Sallow Gang

**I should have divided the other chapter as it was rather long. It's too late for that, but this here chapter is split in half for more comfortable reading. Enjoy!**

* * *

My brain is exhausted. Luckily for me, my bed had mysteriously been rolled back into my room. The few of my things that passed inspection are neatly presented on the blanket, which is just as neatly folded under the mattress. It wasn't yesterday. I recognize the hospital corners; they're the Rugeley's. Dude must be military, but not of King Dad's. None of them can make a bed like this.

I crawl under the blanket, holding the picture frame that was on the bed. It's not the original frame; the old one was mahogany and glass, this one is in pink and green craft foam. It appears to be homemade. The picture is the same, though. It's Mama Koopa, sitting in the window, holding Lemmy and me. I'm just a hatchling in it; bottom securely padded and wearing a warm onesie. I'm sleeping. I must be at peace, because I'm smiling behind my pacifier. Lemmy is smiling. He's ridiculously photogenic, then again, he's always loved getting his picture taken. He remembers the day we took this photograph, but it's too long ago for me.

He is smiling, so is Mama. She is wearing a yellow and orange dress. I don't remember the day, like I said, but I do remember that dress. Mama was a beautiful Koopa, and she wasn't afraid to be herself around us. How I long for her loving eyes, her soft kisses and gentle words. I wanted to ask King Dad to give me the same refuge as she did. I'm afraid he'll tell me I can't be saved, and that he wants me to stay in this place where he doesn't have to look at me; the wretched spawn.

It's impossible to sleep, even after turning off the lamp. But at least the pills Dr. Greenkoop gives me are keeping me calm. It's so nice when one's heart isn't trying to leap out of your chest like a wayward beachball and leave you to drown in a sea of panic. There's no panic right now. In fact, I don't really feel much of anything.

The door to my room, even though I ignored the knock. I turn around to bark at the intruder; after all, the insane have a right to privacy too. But the girl in front of me is not one of the staff.

"Are you sleeping?" She asks, smiling and raising her eyebrow. "You silly boy, it's not time for bed yet. First it's dinnertime, and then it's time to play."

The infantile female is of the Beanish persuasion. I call her infantile, because despite being taller than me, she has wrapped her horns in layers of pink ribbons, there's a sticker shaped like a star on her forehead, and she wears a pink frilly dress over her hospital gown. I'm guessing that once this dress reached her to her ankles. But now it's like a tank top, and not a long one at that.

Her smile is warm and reveals thin braces on her upper jaw, held in place with pink studs, or whatever they're called.

"My name is Boo-Boo," she says sweetly. "And you're Iggy." Boo-Boo then giggles. "I've heard too much about you to not come into your room and say hi. Even though," she lowers her squeaky voice, "I know that you boys do naughty things when you're alone in your rooms."

She appears a little disappointed that she didn't catch me in doing whatever naughty thing boys do, but I don't dwell on it.

"Well, I..."

"Come with me," she says. "The gang's having a meeting in five minutes. Incidentally, when the grown-ups eat their packed lunches."

"Excuse me," I say and brush her hand off my arm as I stop. "But what is this _meeting_ you're dragging me into?"

Boo-Boo just shrugs. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that. You're not a member yet. We like to keep our operation just as clandestine as Stephen Hawking's drinking problem. Just trust me when I say it's an honor that we want you in on it."

"Oh," I say, still perplexed. "That makes sense."

I follow her. The common room, which seemed so barren and desolate this morning is now full of people. Koopas are people, too, and I'm glad to see that I'm not the only Koopa boy here. There are three, excluding me. Jerry is among them.

Shelly is not the only Koopa girl either. Another one, a little younger than her and much less gaunt sits next to a Koopa boy with a band-aid across his nostrils.

Rugeley stands near the table they gather around. As soon s Nurse Pianta and the three Koopa Kid orderlies enter the nurse's station he nods to us, and heads into the medicine room. I stand before the table, unsure of what to think. It's as if they're about to exact divine retribution on me; wearing their long garments, sitting by King Grambi's table and holding my soul in their hands.

"Meeting will now come to order," the band-aid boy declares, banging a piece of street chalk as if it were a gavel. "The Dishonourable judge Koops presiding." Koops points the daisy at me. "We have a new arrival here at this fine institution. State your name."

"Iggy Koopa," I say, and several of the girls gasp in awe. Apparently they read magazines. "But you already knew that."

Koops scoffs right in my face. "And where would I have gotten _that _intelligence, grassy-knoll?" He's pointing his chalk in my chest, and it's annoying, but I refrain from stripping his smug face right off his head with my teeth. Lord knows where that face has been.

"I told you at breakfast this morning. You ignored me and threw toast at me when you thought I wasn't looking."

This makes Boo-Boo very upset. She hits Koops - rather hard - right in the nose. His band-aid suddenly makes a lot of sense. "You silly, _silly _boy! To waste toast like that when rats are starving in the sewer!"

"Uh, let's stay on topic, shall we?" The blonde girl's voice reveals that these meetings aren't your typical Sunday afternoon tea parties. Band-aid boy and the infantile girl have each grabbed a pencil, and everyone is backing away from them. No one here's afraid to get their hands or criminal records dirty.

I love it.

"Of course," Koops says and drops the ominously sharpened pencil. "Back to you, Ignatius."

Wow. Only the lowliest of low-ranking Goombas ever refer to me as Ignatius. Well, my mama did sometimes, but only if I had been particularly naughty.

"You wish to join this fine organization?"

If I hadn't before, I do now. While Koops has apparently buried the hatchet, Boo-Boo is clutching hers, eyes black with rage. I will never look at a no.2 pencil the same way ever again; it's obvious that if not blocked by the Hammer Bro, Koops would be a dead Band-Aid boy right now.

"Yes, very much," I say. I gladly admit that it's beyond embarrassing to find myself ranked below a Koopa Troopa.

"Hmm." Koops raises an eyebrow. "To be honest I don't want you anywhere near this group, or our women."

Shelly, who for some reason does not have a chair at this table, but is stationed at the concession stand sighs and looks quite forlorn. The group's code of chivalry obviously doesn't extend to her.

"Why?" I ask, because a man can't help but wonder.

"Because of how you follow Clawdia around. You take the pills she gives you. How can you believe any of the lies she feeds you? Are you _insane_?"

"Yes," I answer, because I don't know for sure what kind of answers he wants.

Everyone laughs. Even Koops allows a little smirk before angrily ordering everyone to shut their filthy little traps. I don't think it's funny. After all, the pills are telling me never to laugh again or else I'll look stupid. "Clawdia's pills are poison. Who, sane or insane, with a death wish would choose _poison_?"

"_You're_ poison, Koops." Boo-Boo retorts.

"Shut up," is what he returns.

"No, I will not shut up." Boo-Boo stands up, and there's nothing cutesy about her now. "You took her pills too when you got here. And you sat still while they put you in the dinner jacket."

"Of course I did. I didn't have a choice, you stupid bitch," Koops hisses.

"None of us have a choice, you despicable tub of rancid corn smut," The pink-capped Toad girl sighs and rests her head in her hands. "This here ain't a choices kind of place."

Koops' mean eyes wander from Boo-Boo to me. "Whatever you say. We can choose to exterminate any rats, though." He grabs his pencil and points it, with a little too much precision for my taste, where my liver is. This kid was obviously either a med student or a gang member on the outside. Eh, what's the difference.

"You think you can scare me, little foot-soldier?" This is one of the most offensive things you can call a Koopa Troopa. In the Old Language, what we call our own tongue, the expression implies that they're only put on the planet to serve others; basically cannon fodder. Koops doesn't take the bait, so I continue.

"I outrank every member of the biggest military organization in the galaxy. Granted, I was born into that position, but If I tell them to jump, they jump and _then _they sure as hell jump. Think you're the biggest bunch of wackos I've ever dealt with?" I can't help but to laugh. "You lamos are without doubt the most sallow gang I've ever laid my bespectacled eyes on."

Koops is looking at Rugeley, who signals from the hallway that we have five minutes to wrap up the meeting before the staff break is over. Then his eyes turn black, like Boo-Boo's, and I fear that he's about to flip the table over.

"So you're a big shot Trooper, huh? We may be a sallow gang, 'cause otherwise we might be too nice to punch a guy with glasses. We're fighters. Fair ones. No wands, no Chain Chomps, no rich King Dad."

For each object the gang is without Koops removes an article of clothing; his cotton gloves, his jacket, and lastly his band-aid. He intends to battle me. That's fine. My glasses are in vulcanite and made to withstand intense combat, with or without weapons. As are my claws.

The others quickly remove the table, so we can have more room. I choose to stand in front of the windows, so I won't get blinded. The light obviously doesn't bother Koops as much.

"Battle theme, bitches!" He snaps at the girls, and they immediately take out their instruments, from hammerspace, it seems. In the castles where King Dad arranges the boss fights the battle musicians are never seen, so for the longest time I thought the music came from nowhere.

The theme I share with Koops is rather well written. It's as if it was written for a battle that never came to be, but the gang must never have given up hope.

I once tackled my own father. That's a state secret, but I was rather pissed off that day. I don't want to hurt Koops, but his next move makes holding back pretty much completely unnecessary. He's not a weakling at all. He jumps, and lands his foot in my snout. Christ, that hurts! I stumble backwards before retreating into my shell. Koops is no stranger to any of my own moves, but I am hopefully the only one holding a record for fastest shell spinning.

He timely jumps over me on the first ricochet, but too soon on my second, and lands on my spikes. Oh, that's gotta hurt. He jumps up. This time, seeing it coming, I leap as well, and he only hits me in the plastron. His move leaves his own abdomen just as vulnerable, so I respond with a knee in his gut.

Man, that hurt the both of us.

The others go absolutely nuts and cheer loudly, and Rugeley tries to make sure they don't attract the attention of the still snacking staff. Good luck on that.

"You fight like a chick, Koopa!" Koops' health points are definitely lower than mine, and still he has the energy to give me lip.

"That's not what your mom told me last night!" That's one of Roy's as I'm much less inclined to fornicate with someone's mother than him.

He does a shell spin. He's spikeless, however those Koopa Troopa shells are thicker and can do a lot more damage. I therefore retract as well and meet him half-way, sending him careening into the concrete wall on the far side of the room. He comes out, but doesn't get up. I won.

"The winner is Iggy," Boo-Boo declares and holds my hand up. Koops stays on the floor until he's done panting, then rises. First I fear that he is going to grab the pencil and stab me for real. Instead he smiles and shakes my hand like the others.

"Dude, that was awesome!" He says, all charm. "_Fuckin' _awesome! How do you spin like that?"

"Yeah!" The Hammer Bro, Topper, nods enthusiatically. "Do the castle people like, teach you how to be cool and stuff?"

"Please be in our group, Iggy!" The Toad girl, Toadette, says, jumping up and down.

"Everyone who wants Ignatius Koopa in our group, say aye," Koops says, holding his gavel slash chalk.

"Aye!" Everyone says. Rugeley, well, he never really smiles, his face just softens up a bit. He nods approvingly towards me.

"That's all well and good." Koops also makes a slight nod as he takes a note with his ridiculously oversized piece of chalk. "The only vote left is Iggy's. Would you like to join us in making the lives of our peers more bearable while messing with the landlords' heads?"

Me join a group that threatens each other, talks like drunk Airship captains and celebrates violence?

I'm home.


	7. Iggy Koopa's Broken Beauty

New chapter! From the Institute's point of view this time. Now you don't know what to believe ;)

* * *

The walls of a place like the Institute breeds more determination than outsiders may think. The extremely hot and humid weather one terrible afternoon was not enough to keep the janitors on every floor from keeping their repainting project alive.

The sharp smell of turpentine wafted into the Scum of the Earth ward and roused Iggy Koopa from his trance. Moments before he had been sitting on the floor of the empty TV-room and rocked back and forth, like he always did. His calm was superficial - in reality he was so overstimulated this was all he could do.

"The floor is melting," the Koopaling said as nurse Rugeley helped him on his feet. Usually Iggy would violently resist physical contact when in a manic state, but since Dr. Greenkoop had increased his dosage to a hundred milligrams of Silentium a day, it was limited to fidgeting. Rugeley sighed as he held him by the arms and tried to convince him to walk on his own. Iggy was so emaciated one could feel his bones underneath scales and a very sparse layer of flesh.

The painfully slow march out the ward and into the corridor went fine. Upon seeing the fourth floor staircase however, he started hyperventilating. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Rugeley asked. "We're just going to the cafeteria to get something to eat, like we do every day."

"No," Iggy stuttered, and stared into his palms. "I'm bleeding."

Whenever he started this mantra there was only one thing to do - get him into a Whiteroom before he could turn violent. The Whiterooms, also known as the "private rooms" were padded isolation cells. Most of the residents that had to spend time there were usually a greater threat to themselves than others and time there was not applied as a punitive measure. Before he died, the founder of the home had specified that he didn't want his hospital to be a place of punishment and shame, but a place for those vulnerable of naughtiness to thrive, learn and discover new things in safe, caring surroundings.

Nurse Rugeley's face darkened as he saw how the Koopa Kid orderlies held the patient. In his opinion they were brutes, but a necessary evil. The book required a potentially violent resident to be physically restrained while for the effects of the sedatives to kick in. Iggy had a remarkable resistence to sedatives when he first arrived at the Institute. Now it didn't take long for them to work. This time it only took twenty minutes for his green-haired head to begin nodding. Before bringing out the fancy jacket, however, Rugeley took a few moments to dry the plentiful tears off of Iggy's ashen face. The nurse preferred to coat residents himself when he could as Dr. Greenkoop had an inexplicable habit of not padding those she put in restraints. "They need to learn how to be in control themselves," was the only explanation she had offered.

Rugeley wasn't a doctor, but he had years of first-hand experience with the severely mentally ill and knew that when they suffered incontinence, they didn't do it out of spite. They're called "accidents" for a reason, he had tried to explain, and when the coat was worn they were inevitable. Trying to explain this to Clawdia had of course been a waste of time.

Having someone in a private room that wasn't talked about allowed the staff to care for a resident more closely. One on one contact was hard to come by in the higher security wards. In here it was possible to talk with them for longer periods at a time and calm them down. Every two hours the nurse checked in on Iggy. It was however Nurse Pianta who walked in on Iggy as he thrust against his pillow. The goal of this behavior was obviously not pleasure as the pillow was already saturated in seminal fluid.

Iggy turned around as well as he could, and his neck made a disturbing, rubbery sound. He looked at her and grinned. "I did this to Mama once too," he said, panting. "I fucked her. And she loved it. She loved it!" His unproportionally large eyes sparkled and he slowly blinked as if savoring a prized memory. "You know what she said? 'More, Iggy! More, more, _more_! My _sweet _little Koopa-darling _loves _his mother!'" He lunged his torso at Nurse Pianta as his arms were still securely restrained by two layers of durable canvas. She closed the door while Iggy screamed. "I'm dirty! I'm evil and I made my blood filthy! Mama says I'm gonna burn in Hell!"

It was very audible through the padded door, and to anyone on the same floor. The next time Rugeley checked up on Iggy the Koopaling had been bathed and put in a regular gown for the night.

"Is it bedtime already?" The bespectacled Koopa nodded towards the blanket the nurse folded out. His voice was hoarse from screaming.

"Yes, very soon." Rugeley sat down. Unlike Nurse Pianta and her ilk he wasn't afraid of the residents. "Iggy, there's something I need to ask you. I have to because that's the rules of the hospital."

Iggy nodded as he took long, slow sips from a water bottle.

"Did your mother ever take advantage of you in the manner you described earlier today?"

This long-begged question upset Iggy greatly, but not for the reasons one would think. "No!" He said, but his tears made it difficult for Rugeley to believe it. "Mama would never do such a thing. She loved me so much."

"She never touched you?"

"No. Touching is a wrong thing to do and she told me very clearly once that I shouldn't touch others either without permission." Iggy was shaking like a leaf, so the nurse wrapped him up in the soft blanket. "It's not easy to control what you say!" He said, suddenly angry.

"I never said it was, Iggy." Nurse Rugeley's face didn't change. "Especially if you hear voices. Have you heard voices today, Iggy?"

The Koopaling nodded. "Yes. I have. They told me to bite Nurse Pianta until she bled. I didn't want to hurt her. You have to believe me!"

"I believe you," the nurse ensured. "Go on."

Iggy nodded. "I don't wanna be mean to Nurse Pianta. She's nice. I don't want to break her neck and eat her face. She deserves to keep her face!"

The Koopa nurse nodded. "Yes, she does. And it's your job as well as mine to make sure that Miss Pianta stays safe and healthy."

Iggy nodded. "I know. But..." His breath was shaky and uneven. "He hates women. He tells me to do painful things to them and make them cry."

Tears pooled in the dark circles around his eyes. "I get so angry. And scared."

"That's why you're here, Iggy. And wearing the coat, so we can both be absolutely sure neither you nor anyone else gets hurt."

Iggy didn't mind wearing it. It did keep everyone safe, and it smelled like daffodils. All of a sudden he started weeping again. Nurse Rugeley could hear the homesickness in the hiccups and sobs.

"He's making my face ugly. I'm gonna be ugly forever." The Koopaling was exhausted, so it didn't take him long to fall asleep. Rugeley sat with Iggy until his breath was slow and even, and figured that because of the ridiculous cuts Greenkoop had made to the Institute's budget, he'd be watching the Whiteroom hall for the night. Of course she never showed up to inform anyone about this; she had more important things to do. Whatever those were.

Rugeley's blood sugar was low, and the dry air made his throat feel like a desert. He had been on the beat so to speak for twelve hours and in need of some refreshment. The hospital's very strict fire codes dictated that neither the private rooms nor the entrance to the hall were not to be locked at night. There was a vending machine just outside that had water bottles, fresh fruit and those mini digestives. If it hadn't been so necessary for him to eat as regularly as it was he would have waited for nurse Toadley's round, which was in two hours. But he couldn't risk passing out on duty.

Rugeley checked on Iggy once more. He was fast asleep and looked peaceful, for him. The nurse left the door to the hallway open a crack, as he wasn't expecting what was about to happen... to happen.

"This is Bullscheisse," Dr. Wolfgang von Bachstein scoffed. "You just upped Iggy's dosage. He has not yet had the chance to be accustomed to the previous dosage."

"He's a schizophrenic. Silentium can help curb his hallucinations."

"Silentium has not been approved for distribution to disorganized schizophrenics. Any more of this drug will very likely usher him into irreversible _Katatonie_. I performed his screening."

Clawdia pouted. She wasn't qualified to perform diagnostic screenings. Not yet.

"Given the severity of his symptoms and their early onset I'd say that his condition is hereditary, and goes back several generations. Eine pill vill not remove that. Not now. Not ever. What we should do is focus on providing support for him and his Familie, and help him to live with his illness."

"Antipsychotics _will _help him to live with his illness, Dr. von Bachstein." Clawdia's tone was still rude.

"No, it fill not. It vill do to him like all who is put on them. He'll become a couch potato, begin smoking and become heavy. A quiet patient is not always a healthy patient. In fact, they _rarely _are."

But they purchased pills, Clawdia wanted to point out, but Dr. Kraut, as she called von Bachstein, was one of those annoying doctors who _cared _about his patients. What a brick wall!

"I cannot abide by this _Politik _of yours to drug teenagers. It's _Irrsinn_!" He lowered his voice. "I once saw the children rip a tutor into _Schnippels _for not supplying colored pencils."

"So we're supposed to give into their demands and _spoil _them?"

Dr. von Bachstein was flabbergasted by Clawdia's ignorance. Frustration even allowed him to hope that it would one day bite her in the tail.

* * *

"You hear that?" A voice said and roused Iggy from his uneasy sleep. He opened his eyes and slowly pulled his knees under his chin.

"They're plotting your doom."

Dead One had placed himself in front of the padded door, and slowly sat down on his knees. A few cockroaches escaped through the dry wounds on his legs, and snuck a quick look around before deciding that the outside world was too harsh a place for them and scurried back under their host's funeral gown.

Iggy didn't know Dead Iggy's complete background. Only that he had been executed for a horrific crime and simply cut loose from the chair before the death row officers threw him out like garbage. He still had one of the leather restraints around his wrist as no one had wanted to touch his filthy remains.

"That's stupid," Iggy replied. "If they had wanted me dead they would have offed me weeks ago."

"That's what I thought too." The apparition nodded and caressed one of his maggoty ulcers. Iggy had gotten used to almost everything about his undead counterpart, except for the smell. It was always overpowering in tight spaces. "Until one day the door to my cell was opened."

His clouded eyes sparkled. "'We're gonna set you free now, Iggy. You're going some place beautiful that's full of peace.' And I followed them, thinking they had finally forgiven me. That was a bigger mistake than any of my amusing little romps."

"At least now no one can mistake you for anything than the reeking pile you really are." Iggy snarled. He wanted Dead Iggy to go away.

"What can I say?" The pen pal replied with an unfazed smile that revealed strings of congealed blood stuck between his jaws. "It saves time. Even though I have spades of time, I don't condone wasting it. I'm a nice guy."

A slimy, bloodstained worm slid out of his nostril and landed on Iggy's shoulder. It immediately searched for a way into the Koopaling's body. Disgusting. The the way Iggy saw it these tiny scavengers were all extensions of Dead Iggy's hatred and moral decadence.

"So, they bathe you yet? Gave you something to eat? I really miss eating, you know. But look at you. You've stopped eating, haven't you?"

Iggy glared at him.

"What a bad idea. The drugs must really make you sick. Just don't let them find out otherwise they'll start feeding you though your nose like a mushy vegetable. They do that in prison, you know, to the inmates who won't eat. The guards always make it hurt. Make the paste go down the windpipe, make you cough and vomit."

"I don't wanna vomit," Iggy blurted, and he immediately kicked himself on the inside for it. He hated how his "pen pal" always found a way to manipulate and scare him.

"Well, then, all you have to do is walk out that door. It's open."

"I can't run away. King Dad will be upset with me."

"Upset with you?" Dead Iggy laughed sinisterly. "He hates you, Iggy. Everyone does. He wishes you were dead and not his wife. To him you matter about as much as a crusted wet dream on a threadbare sheet. You're disgusting. And you're weak. Thank heavens you're here where no one has to look at you, you freak."

He watched gleefully as Iggy keeled over, sobbing.

"Reality's a bitch, huh?"

"I hate it!" Iggy whimpered. "I hate it."

"Good. Now it's time for you to leave here. I found a door."

Trembling, Iggy got up on his feet and followed his pen pal into the hall. The smell of turpentine was gone and fresh paint had taken its place. To keep it from seeping into the furniture the door to the smoking balcony was left open.

After weeks of being shuffled between the Scum of the Earth ward and the private rooms, the fresh air felt almost unreal. It was cold, much colder than the Mushroom World. Iggy disliked the Real World for many reasons. One was the cold. The other was how far away the stars were. He remembered climbing the volcano with Ludwig and being able to see the faces of the Star Beings. But from here they couldn't even be discriminated from the sea of other stars.

He hesitated, but whenever Dead One touched him, he turned limp. It had to be the smell.

"No," Iggy began.

"Yes," Dead Iggy insisted. "It's time."

"But... But it's almost breakfast time." The Koopaling grasped for arguments. "It's toast day."

"I won't let it go to waste. Now climb up like a good guinea pig."

Iggy pulled a patio chair up to the railing. Oh my; fifth floor was so high up it felt like the sixth. The concrete was freezing under his naked feet. "Jump. It'll make your family love you again."

"It'll make me die," Iggy protested and shook his head.

"It won't, I promise." Dead Iggy swiftly removed the chair. "Besides, death isn't so bad. A little gross, is all."

The Koopaling let go of the wall he was leaning on. "I do want to go home..."

"So why wait any longer? One little jump and you can have toast in your own kitchen instead of the lame-ass cafeteria."

That thought was lovely enough for Iggy to leap off the balcony and into the unforgiving darkness of the Real World. This is how Iggy learned, once and for all, why the little things in life are too precious to be taken for granted.


	8. Iggy Koopa's Grand Green Head

**Since all that Meowser business I figure you 3D World fans are gonna like this chapter. I myself despise the furry fandom in all its forms. Maybe there's some symbolism giving a clearer message on how I feel about furry Koopalings. Or not...**

* * *

There's a special place in Hell for little Koopas who kill their mothers. The grimy human on the street corner tells me so. It's called Gehenna and it's the great garbage patch of the eternal beyond. Death. Nothing else. The great furnace is located in the middle and spews its black flames twice a day, burning everything and making dust out of all the wicked souls so beyond salvation no higher power can ever restore them to innocence. But it never takes long before Hell's landfill to back up again.

I'm nowhere near this hellish waste disposal. No, the overseers has my ankle chained to a large iron ball. It's heavy and the iron cuff is chafing. I'm walking around the great volcano, with no idea when it will erupt. If I stop, the Dead Guys appear and brand me with their glowing hot handspikes. They keep a fresh supply of these in Hell's hearth available at all times.

The volcano is spewing tons upon tons of hot ash every day, but I never see the searing sparks coming, because the Dead Guys covered my face with a veil of blood. I stumble constantly, just like I did when I was alive, over the burning coal. Sticking out of crevices in the rock are several mushrooms of different color, and as I walk past them, they change the color of my eyes. I can't see it; only feel it. My feet are completely covered in sores and blisters. It takes one whole day to complete a lap around the volcano, no matter how fast I walk.

"Please," I beg as I collapse, but the Dead Guy points the iron at me. There's not a scrap of pity to be found in all of Inferno, and certainly nothing even similar to it in this creature. "Please, I can't take another step."

My pleas for mercy are met with a sizzling sound and an incredible pain; a fresh burn on top of barely scabbing welts. But my legs are so exhausted I can't feel them anymore. Walking is out of the question, and the Dead Guy that's burning me realizes it too.

The chain is cut, but I doubt my straits are any less dire. They push me, they kick me, they pull my hair and smack me around, and I'm helpless because the world around me is dark. They tug at my wrists, and despite the bone dry heat my blood curdles when I realize that they are pulling out my claws with fish hooks.

"No, no, no!" My legs are weighed down with iron, and can't be used to kick the devils away. The pain is the worst I have endured so far, because they are pouring salt on my bleeding fingers.

"I want this filth's teeth in a necklace, too!" One of the Dead Guys hovers over me while inspecting the desired merchandise.

"No, not that!" I have screamed myself hoarse, but they don't listen. "Please! I don't wanna be in Hell anymore! I'll be good!"

They cackle ruthlessly at me. "His tongue's not even evil; just stupid."

"I wanna eat it," another one says. "Stupid tastes good."

"The Devil told us what you did, Iggy Koopa. He has sentenced you to burn, and burn you shall. Forever and ever and ever and ever..."

"We are living in the Last Days, my child!" The grey-bearded man shouts. He smells worse than a botched haggis and sort of looks like one too. He has made me sit down by the street light and is reading from a tattered, leather bound book with a symbol on the front.

"If you do not repent your sins, then the Lake of Fire awaits you!"

I cower in the dull, yellow light. "Sir, you're scaring me."

The grimy, bearded man promptly loses interest in me and turns to a pair of human females whose clothing is insufficient for this still very cold season. One of them douses him with pepper spray and he runs, screaming, into hiding in one of the pitch black alleys across the street. My journey has to proceed without the aid of others. My body is shattered, and it hurts so bad tears well up. Being alone in the world is a bad, bad idea.

"Please," I ask General Cat, who is sitting on the lid of an overflowing garbage can and is snacking on a dead fish. "Let me live with you. I promise I won't bat your toys under the fridge or scratch any of the things you scratch, or..."

General Cat clicks his long, dirty claws against the steel, and I feel major a lump going on in my throat. "Or... Eat from your trash can. I just won't, I swear."

I shift my weight as it's too much of a burden on my torn hamstring. If the face I make is pathetic it's not enough to make General Cat have pity on me.

"No," he says callously, then turns to his minions. "Get him out of my sight. Filth like this can fend for itself. This is _my _city. I rule every alley, every fence, every dumpster behind every Denny's in this shithole town. I personally dirty every kindergarten sandbox in this district so that no one can mistake the boss for _anyone _but me."

"_General_," one of the lady cats says. She has a smooth Spanish accent and a wad of gum stuck in her otherwise fine tortoiseshell fur. "This creature scaled the great fire escape and the northern wall of green squares to get here. It's just like in the Prophecy. Don't you see? He is the legendary Grand Grass Head."

"He must be," another cat says before the General can interrupt. This one is a portly Siamese with a large patch of fur missing from his neck. "We could need you now to help raid the magpie nests of the Tall Oak. And the fur he has is perfect for storing eggs. Just look."

The gang of cats awe at my gown. Before I can be accused of misrepresenting myself I tell the cats: "But it took so long for me to climb that far. My arm separated from my shoulder."

Instead of attacking me and clawing my eyes out, all the cats join together in bunting their heads against my injured arm. It's rather sweet of them and endearing, but how is this going to help? I ask myself before hearing a loud popping, and realize that my arm is back in place.

"Oh, thank you!" I say, because I am very grateful that my arm is functioning again. It's just a little stiff is all. "I owe you one." I rub everyone behind the air and by the tail.

"Good," General Cat says and gets off his high garbage can. "You see, Grass Head; there's a price on all our tails. The human city council has decided to catch and euthanize all stray cats."

"That's awful," I say. How can someone be cruel to animals? "What do you want me to do? Go to the council and tell them you're all mine?"

"Of course not, silly two-legs," General Cat's tail twitches with annoyance and his ears are flat. "You don't have a house to keep us all in, or money to pay our chips and fancy collars. You're a stray, just like us."

I nod. It's true. My home, my family, the Sallow Gang, my things; it's all gone. All what's left is me. Not that much to show for it, is it?

"Besides, we are all expendable." General Cat puts his front paws on the flap of a cardboard box and lowers it as elegantly as only a cat knows how. "These, however, are not."

Inside is a litter of sleeping kittens, huddled together to stay warm. They are so cute I wanna eat them. But that would be rude. Tortuga goes in to them, purring, and lays down so they can suckle. One gets bumped out of the lunch line, so while waiting for it to open up it climbs its mother, rubbing its nose against her soft fur.

"Can I hold one?" I ask her. She nods, still purring.

The kitten meows but when I stroke it, it becomes completely limp. Mammals are strange. When a baby Koopa is rubbed it naturally prepares itself to scale the mother to get to her food.

"If you truly are the Great Grass Head of the Prophecy, you will know how to save our tribe." General Cat tilts his ugly head.

"Five minutes ago you told me to hit the road, and now all of a sudden you trust me with your heirs? I ask him. He just narrows his green eyes at me. Yellow the Siamese is however nodding.

"You coming here is a sign. The Man of the Great Garbage Truck sent you, the Grand Grass Head to us to rescue our kittens, just like I said. Please tell us your plan, Grass Head."

"Yes, please do," the other cats chant.

"Does it involve lots and lots of catnip?" A small, haggard-looking tabby asks.

"Uh, no, I'm afraid not." I reply.

"Oh." She says, clearly disappointed. "Tons of yarn balls then?"

"No."

"No milk either?"

General Cat leaps down to silence her. "That's enough." His gaze is on me once again. "What exactly is your plan, Grass Head?"

King Dad once taught me how to negotiate with an opposing force, at least for as long as it takes to save one's own scaly skin. And that's what I should do now too, and buy some time.

"I know a place they can go where they'll be taken care of. I know a dude with glasses like mine, and he'll be overjoyed to take them in."

I don't really know him, I have only seen him eat lunch at Freaky Fred's with the rest of the day ward gang. But I do know that he loves cats and has a big house in the beautiful country away from traffic and yelling.

"What's this Two-Leg's' name?" General Cat asks.

"Francis," I say slowly, because I'm hoping it's the right one. "He's not just any other Two-Legs; he has a long tail, like you. He will understand your children, that's why he was chosen by me."

The cats like this very much. Even the "_Heneral_" seems pleased.

The kittens are however too little to be away from their mama just yet, so while we wait for her to wean them, I spend time with the other cats, foraging for food. They remind me of Mama Koopa; never use loud voices or dirty words, and accept me, the stranger, as one of their own, as long as I understand that General Cat is the leader.

People throw away so much food it's a miracle anyone has any in their fridge or cabinets. One night I climb into a dumpster behind a fast food restaurant and find a full bucket of chicken and curly fries. I imagine it was thrown away because the cook used the wrong seasoning. Humans are so wasteful. We Koopalings may be spoilt, but King Dad busts a gusset if we throw away perfectly good food. Of course, he defines "good" food a little differently than most. Slimy expired milk for instance, which I think is super gross, is in his own words, "excellent medicine for an upset stomach".

But this chicken was made today. So are the two pizzas and the basket of garlic knots also found in this dumpster. I find bottles of water, too. That's good, but if I hadn't discovered them, there's always the gas station nearby with its poorly guarded hose that I frequent. The cats don't need as much water as I do.

I give some of the chicken and garlic knots to Greybeard Dude, and he thanks me, then calls my hair "worldly". "The good Lord frowns upon all things wordly," he explains while wolfing down the food. It's probably been a while since he ate this well. "Try to be more than just of this world, boy."

"I will, sir."

The two ladies that stand by the telephone booth gets to choose a pizza. After some back-and-forthing they settle on the mushroom and pepperoni one. They are hungry, too.

"Thank you, Grass Head," the brunette one says, because that's how I introduce myself now.

"It's delicious," the blonde agrees. "If you like my offer still stands, free of charge.

"That sounds lovely, but you don't have to repay me." Besides I think a date with this lady will make it burn when I pee.

I take the rest of the food back to the cats, who flock around it. Yellow, Tiny-Tabby, Tortuga, Grim Face, Bullseye and Sticky are my new family. I bring in the bacon to earn my keep while they keep our alley rat and roach free. They eat pizza while I help myself to the rest of the curly fries. I don't like pizza that much; that's plumber food.

"Thank you," Tiny-Tabby purrs. I gently pick some cheese out of her whiskers.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to us, Grass Head," Grim Face says. Man, he's one ugly cat; reminds me of Morton. Maybe that's why I find myself putting him in my lap and petting him behind his tattered ear.

The kittens are much stronger now and leave the box every now and then. Tonight the smell of pizza and sound of rejoicing must have made them really curious. That's a good sign.

"_Gatitos_, back in the box now." Tortuga scruffs one of them.

"But mommy, we wanna talk to Grass Head too. Please?"

I take them into my lap too; my they are so adorable. Their paws are tiny and feel like little kisses on my face. I let them play with it for a while before giving them back to Tortuga and climbing into my box for the night. Yellow jumps up on the trash can with a newspaper in his mouth.

"Here you go," he says. "It's the dryest one!"

"Thanks," I say and unfold the paper before wrapping it around me. It's so nice to have a place to call home.

* * *

Running away from a place like Freaky Fred's doesn't mean that you're home free. They come after you, even if they suspect you're dead behind a park bush somewhere. While Dr. Greenkoop's administration had cost most of the in-house search party their jobs, even she appeared to have taken a personal interest in finding the escaped patient. Maybe because no one had heard from Iggy Koopa in three weeks. He was presumed dead and needless to say, his father Bowser was a little frazzled.

Usually when someone takes their lives their bodies are recovered quickly. Ludwig had kept an eye on the city morgues and hospitals and the only green-haired male to end up on the slab there was a human punker gangbanger with a bullet in his forehead. Ludwig had not told his father that. Iggy had done exceptionally well in survival training, but had never actually had to apply the teachings in real life. Even Bowser hadn't been in a situation that did.

No other green-haired male aged 14-18 showed up drowned, shot, dead from overdose, frozen, or hit by a car, which was why Ludwig firmly believed that Iggy was still alive out there somewhere. But only Dr. von Bachstein and Rugeley believed him, and of the two only Rugeley could be spared to help searching.

"We have looked everywhere. We've covered almost every nook and cranny of this town." Rugeley needed a break and looked for a greasy spoon where they could sit down for a while.

"I know." Ludwig looked around. "There's a cafe just down this block where we can get some breakfast and ask people."

Two eggs on rafts and a pot of lukewarm piss poor coffee later, the two split up. "We'll meet back here later for lunch."

"Can't wait," Ludwig said and began showing Iggy's picture to the passersby he met. Only one recognized him; a streetwalker and her friend.

"Yeah, I seen him, alright," she said. Her breath reeked of the same coffee as Ludwig's.

"You have? Do you know where he is?" Ludwig turned his head, but Rugeley was long out of sight.

"Yeah, but... you know. Discretion and all that."

"I get it." The blue-haired one dug around in his shell and gave the blonde a twenty dollar bill that like her, had seen better days.

"His name is Grass Head and he usually hangs out in the alley at the corner of Third and Stygian."

"He's all alone? But he's just a kid." Ludwig frowned. "I take it this is not the safest neighborhood."

"It ain't," the dark-haired woman said. "There be gangbangers n'shit down there but nobody wantsa fuck with Grass Head."

Apparently, to avoid getting stabbed, the target had bit clean through a gang leader's achilles tendon. Who else than Iggy Koopa?

Stygian Avenue belonged to one of the city's precious few skid row districts that hadn't been bulldozed into yet another yuppie trap full of cupcake shops and bookstores. Rugeley said that he suspected this part of the town would always be a blight as the city had nowhere else to put its untouchables.

Aside from a couple of prostitutes and junkies the street was empty. But Ludwig was more concerned about the windows of the upper floors of the surrounding buildings. If he ended up with a bullet in his brain he could kiss that allowance raise goodbye.

He heard a rustling noise, and turned around to see.

"Iggy?"

Iggy Koopa had come ambling out from the the nearby alley, and was carrying a stack of newspapers, but upon seeing Ludwig he turned on his heel back into the shadows. The Koopaling was hardly recognizable as such; covered in filth from head to toe and still wearing the gown from the night he escaped.

"Iggy?" Ludwig kicked away a cardboard box and was scared half to death by the snarling cat hiding underneath it. The alley was a lot larger than could be seen from the street and behind a corner there was a large gate dressed in chain link wire.

The bluehaired Koopa used his master key from Kastle Koopa to open the lock as it wasn't a complicated one. What he saw behind it was astounding. Someone - Iggy - had built a veritable house of boxes and newspapers.

"It's OK, General Cat. it's just an intruder - he didn't know you'd be... um, scheduling the coup of the Forest Cats' pizza fingers. It's OK, it's OK..."

"Iggy? Iggy, it's me. Ludwig."

The escaped mental patient reached for a long metal rod he kept handy in case of trespassers. "Leave me alone! I told you I can't walk any more!"

"You don't have to take another step if you don't want to. I'm gonna take you home, Iggy."

"I don't have to walk, General Cat, because I am home." The Koopaling's arms shook.

Ludwig took the newspapers out of Iggy's hands. "No, you're not home. You ran away from psychiatric care and you've been out here all alone for more than a month."

"I had to escape, Dimentio." Iggy sat down with a plop on his ad-hoc newspaper carpet. "He's so angry at me for leaving him in Hell. But what else was I supposed to do? He's dead, I'm alive, he's dead, I'm alive... And now, we're fighting for a very important cause."

"And what cause may that be?"

Iggy stared at his brother with large, dead, unblinking eyes. "The blight that's gentrification, of course. We all need to join forces in protecting the city from yuppies like hipsters like you." He nodded towards the knitted sweater Ludwig had put on to blend in with the Real Worlders. Rugeley had informed him that humans wouldn't look at them twice as long as they wore clothes. It was probably how Iggy had avoided discrimination.

Ludwig sat down on the stairs to the fire escape, both to block it and because he wanted to see if it calmed Iggy down. "You know what, Ignatius? I realize that we never got to finish the conversation we started the last time we saw each other. I need closure on the opinions you shared."

Iggy just looked more angry and confused than before, and approached him with the metal bar. From his position he would be able to tackle his brother if necessary, but he really hoped it wouldn't come to that. He knew that schizophrenics rarely are violent, however if they are spooked by an outside party while in a delusional state their reaction can be unpredictable.

Ludwig looked at Iggy. He had an ugly lump on his leg that revealed it had been broken, maybe from the jump, that had been left to heal on its own. He also had plentiful cuts and bruises from unpleasant confrontations with the street gangs and police. Not enough to use as a bargaining chip, though. However the lingering injury to his left arm seemed to be quite painful. There was also the hole in his shell.

"Iggy, if you come with me to the hospital, we can fix that arm so you can climb fast again."

"My arm is none of your business, Dimentio," Iggy hissed, not looking up from his diligent apple core - counting. He just needed one more and all the cats, kittens and himself would have one each.

"My name is not Dimentio, and you know that. I'm your brother Ludwig. And now you need to come with me. There's a hole in your shell and if you get pressure on the torsion your spine can split. Do you have any idea how deadly that is? Iggy, do you want to die?"

The green-haired one shook his head, appearing to be genuinely rattled. "No," he whimpered. "I'll go to Hell if I die."

Ludwig knew the look on Iggy's face. He was panicking.

"I can't walk any further. I'm so tired." He repeated.

"You don't have to," Ludwig repeated as well. "You don't have to take another step."

Iggy dropped the pipe, but didn't take his brother's hand. Instead he sprinted down the alleyway, across the street and heading south east. Ludwig had almost forgotten how fast Iggy was; like a green and yellow lightning. Ludwig reached for his cell.

"Yeah, I saw him," he grunted as he locked the gate. He's headed in the direction we came from. He's injured, so he can't get too far."

As soon as Ludwig hung up Rugeley also made a call. "I need an ambulance and backup at Morningbloom Park."

Morningbloom Park was across the tracks, so to speak; the better part of town. Affluent people took their kids here when not too busy making the rich richer. Iggy also came here, after dark, to be with his cats and hide surplus stash.

"The Company of Being Better Than You's Annual Grand Tea," a sign said. Iggy couldn't get around the party; there were too many people.

"He's here," an accusatory voice said. "The murderer."

"Yes," another just as ominous voice replied. "Finally."

"Now we can eat." Dark hands reached for him, but Iggy wriggled away from them and ran.

He hid under a table so fast no one had time to notice him, and through the lace tablecloth, snuck peeks at the world around him. There was no way out, and the people scheduled to sit at this table were steadily approaching.

The Koopaling remembered how he and Lemmy had once infiltrated a country club in the Southern North America by dressing up as southern belles. Their mission didn't succeed, but their father could still produce belly laughs thinking about it. "Pure genius," he had said. Lemmy had accepted the praise like he always did, but Iggy was embarrassed. And this time it would be impossible to pull off. He would therefore have to resort to making a spectacle of himself.

"I am the technicolor space traveller!" He stood up and tossed the wicker table aside, smashing china and splattering butter all over a lady's dress. She screamed and probably broke a nail in the process. He leaped up on the table, grabbing a knife from next to a roast turkey. Jumping from one table to the next, kicking cups, plates and napkins, he yelled: "Gentrification is wrong! See if you can eat me now, you bastards! Gentrification is why Larry Tierney died a free man!"

Before leaving the chaos behind and dancing out the back door, Iggy saw the little wooded area in the large park where he had a stash of hidden goodies. He wanted to hide the stolen knife there, but before he could find the hollow tree, Ludwig emerged from behind two bushes.

"Iggy, it's time to stop running. You're running from yourself, not me, and you will never get away like this."

Iggy held up the knife. "I wanna die, Ludwig, and pay for my sins. But paying for my sins really hurt."

"What sins? Iggy, you know this isn't real." Ludwig tried to will Iggy away from the bridge, which was just a few yards away, and closer to Rugeley, who was approaching from behind. "Please come with me to the Institute. They can and will help you there, I promise."

"No, they can't." Iggy began sobbing. "I can't be helped." He held the knife up, and it was exactly like the night he has taken Wendy hostage. "I'm a sinner and beyond redemption." He then, in a movement so quick it made the air hiss, he pointed the knife at his own heart. "Ludwig, please save the..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence before Rugeley grabbed him. It was a bold, borderline rash, decision, but it was then or never. Iggy screamed and lunged the knife at him, and the risks were too big; Rugeley grabbed Iggy's wrist and banged his hand against a tree trunk until he dropped the knife. He could hear and feel the Koopaling's wrist sprain, and he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

The medics arrived and as Iggy was brought into it he asked to whisper something into Ludwig's ear. Ludwig just patted Iggy's hand and it was reassuring enough for the green-haired Koopaling to let the paramedics wrap a blanket around him and carry him inside the waiting ambulance.

"What did he ask you?" Rugeley had finished talking to the police and was ready to return to the hospital.

"He wanted me to stay with him at the Institute," the Koopaling lied. "But I think my constant presence there will just confuse him even more."

Rugeley nodded. "You care so much, Ludwig. Iggy couldn't have a nicer brother."

Rugeley was also a good Koopa; no wonder Iggy and the other residents liked him so much. Ludwig felt bad for lying to him, but he was about to do something that would settle the score.

He returned to the alley where he had found Iggy. As he looked for the box Iggy had told him about, a gang of cats jumped up, one by one, and stared at him.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," he said. "I'm here on behalf of Iggy, my brother, to take your kittens to live with Francis at his castle."

The tortoiseshell rubbed herself against Ludwig's legs. "We know," she purred. "Iggy told us all about you."

Ludwig was flabbergasted. Talking to animals was one thing, but the animals talking back...?

"_Gatitos_, it's time to go," the mother cat said. The now very independent kittens still gathered around her for a final grooming and a little love. It wasn't hard for Ludwig to understand why the rescue of these feral felines was so important to Iggy.

"Please come with us, Mommy," one of them begged.

"I can't go with you where you will live now, my sweet _niño_," Tortuga purred. "but I promise I will always be with you."

She oversaw them as they jumped into the box. "Be safe now, my darling _chicos_."

"Goodbye, Mama."

Yellow and General Cat followed Ludwig out of the alley. "Thank you for saving our kittens," General Cat said. "Thanks to you and Grand Green Head, our clan can return to our rightful alley one day, when justice is extended to kittens."

"No," Ludwig replied, "Thank you for taking such good care of my brother. You kept him safe and gave him company when he needed it the most."

All the Stygian cats, not just those of Green Head Alley, came out to salute Ludwig, and they did with loud meowing as the Koopaling jumped into the Warp Pipe leading him to the beautiful, kitten-friendly Bitlands and Francis' castle. He waited in the bushes after knocking on the door, for Francis to come out. The huge chameleon wore pajamas with Super Stars on them and a mushroom nightcap, and he carried a glass of warm milk.

"Hey, you guys," he said tenderly to the kittens. "What are you doing out here?" Francis picked them up and held them to his face so they could play with it. "You are so-o-o schweet. Wanna see if there's something good for you in Francis' mini fridge?"

He closed the door. Just in time, as a green Tileoid had decided to climb Ludwig and leave its itchy spores all over him. He'd done enough sacrifice for one day.


	9. Iggy Koopa's Gruesome Genesis

**Here it is; the awaited chapter 9, as promised! Read, cry, and review! ;) Oh, and have a nice day.**

* * *

Living on the streets with nothing more than the hospital gown on your back teaches you many things. For instance, the handles of revolvers make bigger cuts and knocks you out longer than those of semi-automatics. You should take shelter not only at night but during the day, too, when the sun is at its brightest. If you catch a pickpocket in the act and break their fingers, you might as well kill them, as you've already taken their livelihood. Gas stations cannot legally deny you to drink from their hose, but it never hurts to buy something after doing so. That's just common courtesy, man, and why I now have a pine scented Little Tree in my shell. And stay as far away from the homeless shelters as possible. They're always full and even when they're not there's still no guarantee you'll walk out with the same amount of teeth you had when you walked in.

I also learned that most of, if not all, the people living on the streets really do have families and friends somewhere. But they have gotten into trouble and think that nobody can help them out. This was true for many of the ones I met. And it was also true for me.

I can hear the others talk in the distance, but I'm still confined to my room. Dr. Clawdia has been withholding everybody's privileges since my escape, because no one can, or wants to give her a clear explanation as to how it happened. Dr. von Bachstein explained her, quite tersely, that it happened because of her gross incompetence and disregard for the hospital's very strict Whiteroom protocol. Fire protocol dictates that the Whiteroom hall cannot be left unmanned. Before Clawdia's budget cuts the night staff of every ward would take shifts every hour while the available orderly sweeped the hallways. Now only one has to do the Whiteroom watch without regular replacement. Rugeley is diabetic and therefore normally excused from Whiteroom watch, but since when did the new board care about schmitails like that?

Nurse Pianta comes bearing a lunch tray and replaces the ice pack around my wrist. It's still deep blue from when Rugeley twisted it. She changes it without talking. She despises me. Maybe, if no one could hear my screams, she would break my wrist completely and snap my naughty hand right off. But I'm lonely, and after refusing the food I grab her, ignoring the shooting pain. The drugs tell me to disregard pain as it's not a useful emotion.

"You're heavy," I say. I mean it a a compliment. It is among Koopas. King Dad is the heaviest of them all and everyone wants to stand close to him, so they can sense his girth themselves. Pianta does not see it that way. And cultural differences are like painful tangles in people's hair.

"Don't be rude, Iggy Koopa." She straightens her white apron and sucks it in, but she's shaped like a little mountain, and loud. I like that. It makes me feel the urge. That's what Clawdia calls it, and she says it's dirty and wrong. But I feel it anyway and it's good. My face twitches from the pain, but I laugh. And laugh. Nurse Pianta tries to reach for her panic button, but I picked it when she put the tray down. My heart beats and I feel alive and happy as I draw in the scent of her. It's a mix of natural and chemical odors that makes my brain short-circuit with joy.

"I love it," i say. "Oh, please, Mistress, sit on me." I hold around her and try to lift her. "I want to be your doormat."

"What?!" She's terrified to even speak, either that, or she has never been with a real man before.

"Crush me. Pulverize me. Sit on me and break every bone in my unworthy body with your splendid beauty. Let me make your body quiver..." But not even kissing her hands can persuade her into favoring me. The Queen rejects my tithings of devotion, and sends for her guards to evict me from her bedchamber.

"I'm trapped inside your heart and I know its pain," I say, keeping her gaze locked in mine. "You are an overachiever in a thankless station. That's why fate sent me to you."

My words hurt her, but I'm not the one who wants her to feel bad, because as she sits on me, heating my filthy body with her divine splendor, she is also cleansing me.

"Can you heal my pain, Iggy Koopa?" She asks, and puts her hands on mine and places them on her hips. I blush; my heart swells at the sound of her voice.

"My bold and innermost desire is no less than to set you free, my Queen," I say, and I'm nervous, being this close to a superior creature exceeds both of my lifegivers' ambitions for me, their degenerate offspring.

My head feels light and my body is falling asleep; the Queen has penetrated my leg with her stinger and her sweet venom is entering my bloodstream. She wishes to dine on my mortail coil, and if this is the only way I can please the Goddess, then I will meet my maker with a smile on my face. She smiles back, and holds my hands in hers. There's no better feeling...

* * *

Bowser slid the back of his hand over the new bedspread, to avoid ripping it with its claws. It was really pretty - quilted together from patches in all kinds of colors to create a rendering of Sammer's Kingdom and it's misty mountains, the sea green sky and dramatic pine trees.

It had been an awesome wedding. After months and months of _courting _the Countess Koopville of Sea Side's daughter he had finally gotten their blessing, and the necessary papers had been signed. His new love interest had not been so happy with the agreement. She wanted to return to Sea Side, but her husband had given her a ring, the blessing had been spoken, witnesses had overseen the ceremony, several love spells had been read. All that remained was for the couple to consummate the marriage. Thus far the Queen had refused Bowser entry to her quarters, and didn't even eat alone with him, but this night she agreed to sleep in his bed. That was a start.

Queen Koopa exited the bathroom wearing a long flannel nightgown with yellow flowers. It covered her completely, even her wrists, neckline and ankles. Her hair had been neatly tucked into rollers and a frilly night cap. Obviously she had ignored or not seen the gift box on the bathroom counter which contained stockings, a skimpy pair of underthings and a silk nightie that would barely require a man's imagination.

From the moment he had laid eyes on her, he knew he had to have her. Her prissiness was an even bigger turnon than a pair of double d's. His other conquests had all been large and lusty, like himself, and none of them had ever neatly folded the blankets aside before entering the bed. Which, by the way, was contructed for heavy Koopas, and their passion. King Koopa could barely feel his new wife's weight next to him. He did however scoot closer to her. She pretended not to notice.

"Did you have a nice day?" The little queen had practiced the words in her head, and they would have sounded rehearsed to an individual a little more detail-oriented than Bowser.

"It was rad." He nodded and lay his massive arm over her stomach, pulling her closer.

"No," she said, and there was a definite growl to her sweet voice as she pushed Bowser's hand away. She had been raised to be a people pleaser, and she was, be it on the vaudeville stage or in her husband's bed.

"Why not?" King Koopa said like a spoiled child. "We're married now and I own you."

Bowser was an incredibly attractive Koopa. Even the little queen thought so. He had a shell that shone like emerald and a mane so thick and red it looked like actual burning fire.

"I agreed to sleep with you, not..." she lowered her voice, "_do it _with you."

King Koopa wanted to sigh at the ignorance of his nubile spouse. After all, she was his property. Just because his father had banned the practice of beheading disobedient consorts didn't mean there wasn't a barrage of other unpleasant fates they could be shipped off to. None of these had ever been allowed in Sea Side which was probably why the Queen dared defy him.

The moment these options crossed Bowser's selfish mind, they vanished, as he found himself liking the anger she aroused in him.

"Maybe I should punish you," he growled. "I could put you in the dungeon for the rest of your miserable life. That'd teach you a lesson."

She just scoffed.

She wasn't stupid - the castle was full of guards hardened enough to ignore her cries for help should things go so far. She wondered if the historians would ever fathom that while she was very much attracted to her husband. How her body quivered when she could feel the warmth of his hands on her. Her being untouched hadn't been a dealbreaker for him at all, strangely enough. At the time, Queen Koopa was still quite young and her inexperience with men had made her unaware of the power she possessed over Bowser. Until now. He was pining for her, but he wasn't forcing her, like he would a woman he did not respect. Hearing how his breath was heavy and shaking with lust, and seeing it in his eyes, clear as day, how much effort it took not to just pounce on her was very empowering. Queen Koopa felt a new kind of courage surge through her.

"Maybe I should teach _you _a lesson, King Koopa..." She climbed out of bed and stood before him, her dark eyes glittering dangeorusly. "...The only way you _can _learn."

Slowly she opened the lacing on top that kept the bodice properly closed. She wore a sheer slip in white lace for extra warmth underneath her flannel cocoon.

"I should neatly fold this and put it in the dresser like a good little wife," she said coquettishly.

Bowser realized that his sweet little flower had a dark side... and loved it. "If you wanna be a good little wife, all you have to do is climb back on top of me."

"Okay!" she obediently left her nightgown on her chair and seconds later, she mounted the Koopa king with a smile tugging on her lips. She stood on her knees, and only when he put his hands down on the blanket did she slowly released her hair from the rollers, one lock at a time. Giving her hair a little shake, she also removed her pretty little slip.

"Oh, please, baby, this thing is killing me!" A couple of sweatdrops formed on Bowser's forehead. Queen Koopa could imagine that as well.

Only now did she allow him to touch her. And look at her. Bowser liked what he saw, despite her being a little less... endowed than his other conquests. She had a small triangle of dark hair where her body met his, which fascinated him. It was really pretty.

"Touch it," he said, but without much authority. She did it anyway; brushed her fingers gingerly through the patch. Bowser's breath shaked as he saw a few droplets of liquid gathering in it. They glittered more beautifully than any diamond rings.

"Like this?" She closed her eyes slowly. She had never fully explored this area of her own being before. It was kind of exhilarating to do it on front of someone. Especially someone who looked like they had never seen a more amazing sight in their life.

"Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose me?" It was a cliche, but at least she wasn't afraid to ask. "After all, I know that you know I have no idea how to satisfy the needs of a king."

Bowser placed his hands on her hips and began rubbing his snout against hers. "Well... When I knocked on your dressing room door, you didn't offer to sleep with me right away. You gave me the business card of your theater troupe. I could sense right away that you weren't interested i me, or my money. We were... equals. I liked that."

"No, you didn't." the little Queen shook her head.

Bowser sighed. "It infuriated me to no end."

Passion. Genuine passion. That was what the fumbling, self-absorbed king had been treated to. He began kissing her, and his hands climbed upwards, gently resting them on her soft mounds. Finally her breath began to pick up pace, too. His mouth slid off hers and down her neck while his thumbs massaged her nipples with increasing intensity. Almost instinctively she prepared herself and allowed him to be close to her, to know her like any wife ought to know her husband. It wasn't scary, nor was it painful. It was like one of those moments in life that are ordinary, but so wonderful at the same time. Natural. Bowser slowly introduced her to a larger portion of his power; she was not at all a delicate little butterfly. Her feistiness had made him suspect that a while ago.

"More!" She gasped with each thrust. "More! Give it to me! I thought you were _strong_!"

He wanted to tell her that a Koopa can only be as strong as the lady's hand that holds his heart, but he was blown away by the feeling of his Queen climaxing around his own flesh. Her face, grinning with ecstasy, spoke of bliss and a paradise that were only theirs. Even a body as large as Bowser's couldn't contain this kind of pleasure. The pathetic little groans that escaped the lady's throat told him it was okay to explode. And he did.

After drifting in and out of sleep for a little while, the couple came to again.

"Are you cold?" Bowser asked.

His little Queen shivered in his arms. "A little. My nightgown is after all on the floor."

He nodded and reached for the bunch of flannel next to her nightstand. She held her arms up, and he helped her on with it. Her body was once more covered, but now he was confident that she wouldn't withhold her delicates from him. "There you go."

"Thank you, darling," she said, feeling comfy and toasty again. Bowser welcomed her next to him as 'little spoon', which would be her sanctuary and rightful place for many years.

"Honey?" She asked.

"Hm?" Bowser, who had began to board the train to Dreamland, turned on his heel.

"I know that... What we just did could, you know, make me... well..."

"A mom?" Why would that, after the things she had just showed him, make her uncomfortable?

"Yes. Would it bum you out if that happens?" She shifted the little weight she had and turned around to face him. "When I was a little girl I always hoped I'd have little Koopas one day." Her face became dreamy, and so did Bowser's. "I used to daydream about a little boy with fluffy green hair and blue eyes. Or maybe rainbow streaks and dark eyes, even. He'd be ours to hold and love and play with."

Bowser liked the thought of that. "If we have a little boy with green hair or rainbow streaks, or no hair, we'll make him the king of the ice and snow, and the brother of my blue-haired son."

"Really?" Queen Koopa lit up like a Christmas tree star. "You don't think your blue-haired son would mind?"

Bowser shrugged. "Nah. Maybe in the beginning, but I think it'll be good for him to have someone else to talk to but the Goombas. They don't, uh, _connect _with each other."

She smiled at him, ready to fall asleep. "I dream about a baby girl, too, sometimes. With blue eyes. But most of the time..." Queen Koopa sighed with utter contentment. "... The little boy. His hair is so soft and fluffy."

As Bowser watched his wife fall asleep, he sort of envied her having such sweet dreams. But she did deserve them. Maybe she would give him that baby girl with blue eyes one day.

* * *

The next morning I am back in my Whiteroom cell and I'm on a feeding tube. How humiliating. I think this is as bad as it gets dignity-wise, as my private areas have been padded. I wonder who signed the parenteral nutrition sheet, because legally only a family member can do that. Dr. von B told me. He's the only one that has given me any information on my rights.

What's different this time is that because Nurse Rugeley has the afternoon shift and Dr. Clawdia is not here today, I get to spend time in the living room even though I'm supposed to be on isolation.

"I'm gonna sit you down in this couch, Iggy," the Koopa Kid orderly says, "while I dole out juice boxes. If you leave this room, or tug on the tube, I'm taking you back downstairs."

"Can I have some juice?" I ask.

"Your diet list says no, so I'll say no."

As soon as he walks off I start crying like a baby, but not because I'm particularly sad. I've seen many residents return from Whiteroom stays and become hypersensitive like me when readjusting to daily life.

"Iggy," Shelly says as she sees me. I want to hide from her, but my spikes are capped. "Oh, there you are." Her voice is warm, and that's weird. Usually she stuffs trash down my shell and push me. Upon giving me a welcome home hug she indeed tucks an old receipt into the encasing. How touching.

"I don't like it when your bones are showing," she says. "Put this blanket on."

It's a fluffy Whiteroom blanket she must have traded with the crackheads of the LAPD ward; a restricted supply item and hard to come by. The Sallow Gang is paving new way.

"Why can't I drink juice?" I ask her, hoping she knows.

"It's because of the pills, Iggy." She's unusually kind today. As if I was dying, or something. I found out later that citrus juice and Silentium can release a poison in the body. Also, she knew of my risk of becoming permanently catatonic and that I wouldn't be the first resident at Freaky Fred's to end up like a vegetable because of Dr. Clawdia's pill. Shelly knew this too.

But I can't stop taking them. Yes, they've murdered my appetite and my intestines are paralyzed, I can't take a crap without a shitload of Colace. My limbs are heavy, my mouth is like the Drybake Desert and sometimes I can't move my eyes. And I don't feel anything. My heart is dead. But what happens when I don't take them is much worse. My body is rotten with putrid chemicals. It's okay. The pain is gone.

My diet list excludes shellfish, citrus fruits, coffee, tea and dairy. Even when on the tube all residents are entitled to at least one snack a day, and I've never been allowed in the day room long enough to try one of the muffins. But the first bite gets caught in my throat and I begin to throw up.

"It's okay," Shelly says and grabs a paper bin. "Better out than in, right?"

While I want to thank her, my tongue is a big, sticky lump which makes it impossible. I blink tears out of my eyes.

"Iggy? Iggy, what's wrong?"

I don't know. But my entire body is trembling violently. It can't be stopped. Again I am so fortunate as to have the staff nearby.

"What's wrong with him?!" Boo Boo drops Mr. Toast, her tanuki doll. As usual Rugeley is the only one of the staff who pays attention to her.

"A seizure. He'll be fine." He sends the others back to their rooms before sitting down by my head. The orderlies pin down my legs and arms, and he wipes away the saliva that pools in my inner cheek and escapes the corner of my mouth. "Iggy, I know you can hear me, but that you can't answer me. You're gonna be ok. We're gonna need to take you through this without giving you any drugs."

While I shake, I'm in and out of consciousness. I can't really feel my limbs as I thrash them about.

"It's almost over, Iggy. You're very brave."

My tongue returns to normal while he still holds my head. For some reason it takes longer for the right side of my body to stop shaking.

The tube is taken out so that any food stuck in my throat is dislodged, lest I get an infection or stop breathing. Shelly, as per Freaky Fred's buddy system, is ordered to look after me while Rugeley runs to fetch Dr. Clawdia.

"Water," I groan.

Shelly places a pillow under my head. "Just lie there. I'll be right back."

* * *

She set course for the water cooler in the hallway, where she saw a pretty pissed Nurse Rugeley talking to Dr. Greenkoop's secretary.

"She's not in right now," the Koopa Troopa says. "You must have gotten the memo that she's going to appear in a news slot tonight which is about to air in a minute."

"Well, you tell that bitch when she gets her ass back here..."

The news, huh? Shelly heard sobbing as she passed Jerry's door; she could see that it was locked. Hurrying back into the living room she stood below the screen which was mounted to the wall. The sound was turned off and the remote was probably in an orderly's pocket, but luckily for her the reports on the POX Network were all subtitled, as mostly only deaf old people watched this channel.

* * *

Those and bored Koopalings waiting for their favorite shows, that is. Roy Koopa had just made himself some dinner. Those fish thingies - sushi - weren't so bad after 15 minutes in a toaster oven. He poured a leftover packet of BBQ sauce from yesterday's KFC over it and sat down by the kitchen TV.

_"It's the formula which has revolutionized juvenile psychiatry and will be featured in lavish presentation at the Annual Pharmaceutical Conference in Pittsburgh..."_

"What the hell?" Roy dropped his steaming hot California roll. He set course for the Koopalings' private hangout room, where Ludwig was napping under his old baby blanket.

"Kooky, you gotta see this." He tore the blanket off his grouchy oldest brother.

Ludwig rolled around and continued snoring. "Get lost, pukeball."

Roy didn't respond with violence to his brother's insult. How unsettling. "No, seriously. Your girlfriend's on TV. They're doing a report on that pill of hers right now!"

That got him up.

"..._The creator of the psychotropic formula Nothavitopropicarbotpatiensatole, market name Silentium, Doctor Clawdia Greenkoop."_

_"Thank you," _Dr. Clawdia Greenkoop said as the camera turned to her. _"Silentium has proven immensely effective in reducing violent behavior in the severely mentally ill. It has reduced the need for use of force at my institution, Freaky Fred Memorial Institute for the Criminally Insane."_

_"That's because they end up dead," _Ludwig snarled. Roy shushed him, interested in something else than food and boobs, for a change.

_"...And the side effects are very limited. But don't take my word for it," _Clawdia said like the hack salesperson she was and wagged her finger_."See for yourself at this year's conference the living proof to why Silentium is the perfect choice for everyone from disobedient children to violent psychotics."_

_"When Dr. Greenkoop is not spending her time tirelessly helping the unfortunate souls at Freaky Fred's ward for criminally insane juveniles, she can be found at the mall, getting hardly necessary beauty treatments and hair accessories..."_

Ludwig couldn't watch anymore and turned the TV off. "Roy, remember how I told you about the simplicity of certain poisonous cocktails?"

They set course for the laboratory. "Nope," Roy replied.

"I thought not. Let me not beat around the bush, then. This conference is the opportunity of a lifetime to finally settle the score with the _Hündin_."

Roy Koopa adjusted his sunglasses, which he always did when he was uncomfortable. "Kooky... Um, I know that Clawdia Greenkoop did you some damage. Well, tons of it, to be exact. But don't you think it's time to let it go?"

"'Let it go'?" Ludwig turned around, which made his labcoat flare out melodramatically. "I was at her mercy once. Now our little brother is. I created the glass egg which can replicate any gene, plant or animal. Save lives and feed the hungry for a song. While she wins the award for her Shitalin formula. A drug which cost lives and only benefits her precious company. And when I called her out on her reckless disregard for life and questionable ethics she has me declared insane, my work destroyed and me sent to the hospital where she is about to begin a fellowship!"

Roy knew those were the darkest years of Ludwig's life. It was when Mama Koopa had Iggy in her belly and was constantly sick, and therefore the first priority. Bowser had signed the papers from the court without looking at them, a mistake he came to regret. Clawdia was not yet in the picture at the time, but she was about to be. Roy felt very sorry for Ludwig, at the same time he hated it when his brother dredged it up. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened.

"You said something about simple poisons...?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Iggy's bloodwork, vomitwork and urine samples show that while the psychoactive substances in Silentium can be quite poisonous, it's the side effects that present the biggest threat. I have secretly fed Silentium to the kitchen Goombas for a while. Before the levels in their serum could give them leukemia, I gave them this antidote and told them it was penicillin. Try it."

Roy took a spoonful of the fruit pulp - like, cherry red substance and sniffed it before tasting it. "Tastes like cheesecake."

"It's lime jello, Pepto-Bismol and ground Star Bits. To celestial beings, like Lumas for instance, Star Bits are merely a snack food. But to us mortals it's like eating pieces of eternal paradise. It's like an instant detox."

"But why the Pepto-Bismol?" Roy asked.

"Because it balances out the syrupy taste." Ludwig's snout crinkled. "Ew." He was glad he didn't have to disclose to his brother how he got the precious morsels. It involved sneaking into the dreaded Dark Star Prison, seeking out a large and immensely strong convict named Midbus, and bending at the waist.

"One spoonful of this a day and my brother... Well, he won't be rid of the madness in his head but it will purge the putrid poison out of his blood."

Roy nodded and grabbed his coat. "What are we waiting for?"


End file.
